D 

629 
.F8B8 
1915 



WITH THE 



AMERICAN AMBULANCE 
FIELD SERVICE 

IN 
FRANCE 




PERSONAL LETTERS 

OF A DRIVER AT THE FRONT 

« •§» » 

PRINTED ONLY POR PRIVATE 

DISTRIBUTION 

OCTOBER 




Class _^ 

Book / o £ 



V 



Copyright^ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSED 



WITH THE 

AMERICAN AMBULANCE 
FIELD SERVICE 

IN 
FRANCE 




PRINTED ONLY FOB 

PRIVATE DISTRIBUTION 

1915 






COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



©CI.A416456 

NOV 18 1915 



H 



6 * PREFACE 

These letters, according to ordinary 
ethics in such matters, should not, per- 
haps, be published. They were merely 
intended as tributes of friendship and 
remembrance. Casually written — in pen- 
cil often — at moments between duties, 
with no thought of their being destined 
to any further purpose than that distance 
and absence might count a little less 
through the pictures they would give of a 
day's work far away. 

Excepting that here and there in each 
letter a few details quite personal have 
been omitted, and of course the names of 
places sometimes changed, they are un- 
touched. Their author has had no chance 
to revise them, nor, it must be confessed, 
has his consent to their printing been 
asked. Knowing him, there seemed little 



iv PREFACE 

likelihood of his believing them worthy of 
special attention; not at least without a 
correspondence of persuasion, and much 
loss of time. Only the exigency of the 
hour and a conviction of their worth have 
led me to take this step. If they give to 
those who may now read as clear a vision 
as they have given me of the chivalrous 
work our young American volunteers are 
doing in France, they will have achieved 
something. If occasionally, some reader 

— grateful for this proof that our country 
is contributing so worthy a part to the 
heroism of to-day — should feel inspired 
to do what he is able toward the encour- 
agement and continuation of this work, 
these letters will have served a high pur- 
pose. The knowledge that a possibility so 
worth while would ultimately outweigh 
with my friend any personal considera- 
tion is justification of the liberty taken 

— and of this book. 

Perhaps for the time and effort the 



PREFACE v 

writer of these records so generously spent 
for friendship's sake in the midst of hard 
and hazardous days he may find recom- 
pense in the realization that, aside from 
the pleasure which their coming meant to 
one who looked for them, they may bring 
much benefit to " the Service " he so 
valiantly describes, and through that 
service, to thousands of men and women 
whose happiness death might otherwise 
have destroyed. 

H. D. S. 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Some of the Section at Pont-a-Mousson . Frontispiece 

Bridge over Moselle at Pont-a-Mousson ... 6 

Trench Work 6 

Soldiers' Graves at Bois-le-Pretre .... 8 

Putting in Upper Stretcher 16 

Loading an Ambulance 16 

Dieulouard 22 

Fishing within Rifle-Range of the Boches . . 22 

Poste de Secour at Auberge St. Pierre ... 40 

Decorations for the 4th at Headquarters . . 44 

Burning Church at Pont-a-Mousson struck by In- 
cendiary Shell 56 

montauville 56 

House in which Large Hole was made by a Shell 76 

Houses at Pont-a-Mousson 92 

Cemetery at Pont-a-Mousson 104 



INTRODUCTION 

For many years before the war there 
existed at Neuilly-sur-Seine, a suburb of 
Paris, a semi-philanthropic institution 
supported by Americans and known as the 
American Hospital. At the outbreak of 
the war this institution instantly and 
naturally became the rallying-point for 
Americans who loved France and wanted 
to help care for her wounded soldiers. 
Within a few weeks it was evident, how- 
ever, that larger quarters must be found. 
A splendid new school building, which was 
rapidly nearing completion in the neigh- 
borhood, was rented; its large, well- 
lighted, and well- ventilated rooms were 
transformed into hospital wards, operat- 
ing-rooms, dormitories, and offices; a mul- 
titude of doctors, surgeons, and nurses 
were brought over from the United States; 



x INTRODUCTION 

and thus the American Ambulance Hos- 
pital in the Lycee Pasteur, with accom- 
modations for more than six hundred 
wounded soldiers, came into being. Soon 
the generosity of another American friend 
of France made possible a second Ameri- 
can Ambulance Hospital, and the ven- 
erable College of Juilly, located about 
thirty miles east of Paris, was steam-fitted, 
electric-lighted and plumbed, and made 
over into a hospital for about two hundred 
additional wounded, with distinguished 
American surgeons in charge. 

From the outset it was clear that the 
saving of soldiers' lives depended quite as 
much upon the quick transportation of 
the wounded as upon their surgical treat- 
ment, and in September, 1915, when the 
battle front surged close to Paris, a dozen 
automobiles given by Americans, hastily 
extemporized into ambulances, and driven 
by American volunteers, ran back and 
forth night and day between the western 



INTRODUCTION xi 

end of the Marne Valley and Paris. This 
was the beginning of the American Ambu- 
lance Field Service with which the follow- 
ing letters have to do. During the autumn 
and winter that followed many more cars 
were given and many more young Ameri- 
cans volunteered, and when the battle 
front retired from the vicinity of Paris, 
sections of motor ambulances were de- 
tached from the hospitals at Neuilly and 
Juilly and became more or less independ- 
ent units attached to the several French 
armies, serving the dressing-stations and 
Army hospitals within the Army zone. 
To-day more than a hundred such am- 
bulances given and driven by American 
friends of France are carrying wounded 
French soldiers along the very fighting 
front in Belgium and France. 

In Belgium and Northern France, 
where the American Ambulance Field 
Service has had an important Section since 
the early months of the war, the valiant 



xii INTRODUCTION 

service rendered during the second battle 
of the Yser, and during the many bom- 
bardments from long-range guns in and 
about Dunkirk, has attracted official rec- 
ognition from the highest officers in the 
Army. At the time of the prolonged bat- 
tles in the vicinity of Ypres in May, Gen- 
eral Putz wrote that the American Section 
had, by working five nights and days with- 
out interruption, assured the evacuation 
of the hospitals in Everdinghe, though 
under continual shell fire which covered 
all of the roads in the neighborhood and 
even the hospitals themselves. "I cannot 
praise too highly," he added, "the courage 
and devotion of which the men in your 
Section have given evidence, and I ask 
you to transmit to them my congratula- 
tions and my thanks for the great physical 
effort which they have so generously made 
and the signal services which they have 
rendered." 

In the section of Alsace which France 



INTRODUCTION xiii 

has definitely recovered from Germany, 
the American Ambulance Field Service has 
now the only automobile ambulances and 
they are performing a service which no 
other automobile ambulances could per- 
form. Because of the lightness and power 
of our little cars, and because we are will- 
ing to use them up in this service and re- 
place them without restrictions, our am- 
bulances are running over steep mountain 
passes in Alsace which the French auto- 
ambulances are unable to cross and over 
which wounded soldiers were formerly 
carried on mule-back. They have been 
able to reduce the duration of the journey 
of the wounded between the dressing-sta- 
tions and the hospitals from four or five 
hours to less than one, at the same time 
substituting transport in a comfortable 
springed vehicle for the agony of transport 
in the mule-litters. Two of the men in this 
Section have already received the "Croix- 
de-Guerre" for special acts of valor. 



xiv INTRODUCTION 

We have another Section of ambulances 
attached to an American army field hospi- 
tal of thirty tents, which is also a branch of 
the American Ambulance Hospital made 
available to the French Army by gener- 
ous American friends. This movable hos- 
pital is equipped to care for one hun- 
dred and forty wounded, and the whole 
installation of ward tents, officers' and 
nurses' tents, operating-tents, mess-tents, 
etc., can be mounted by our men or de- 
mounted and packed on motor-trucks 
ready for transportation in less than three 
hours. It is destined to be of great service 
in the devastated regions when the French 
Army begins its advance. 

Finally, we have a Section of ambu- 
lances in Lorraine to which has been en- 
trusted exclusively the service of carrying 
the wounded in the much-fought-over re- 
gion around Bois-le-Pretre. This Section 
alone has carried on the average about 
seventy-five hundred wounded per month. 



INTRODUCTION xv 

The men work continually within range of 
the German shells and are almost daily 
under German fire. The Section as a 
whole, and their leader, have received 
honorable mention in official dispatches 
and have been given the "Croix-de- 
Guerre." 

The daily life and activities of the men 
of this section are sketched by one of 
its members in the following personal let- 
ters, which — while written without any 
thought of publication — are now pri- 
vately printed in order that those gener- 
ous Americans on the other side of the 
Atlantic who are making this chivalrous 
work possible may more truly appreciate 
its value and efficiency. From this uncon- 
scious story one gets an impression of the 
devoted service which young Americans 
are rendering in France and of the way 
in which they are reducing the agony and 
saving the lives of wounded French sol- 
diers. One sees, too, how deeply this serv- 



xvi INTRODUCTION 

ice is appreciated, and how through it the 
old friendship which has existed between 
France and the United States since the 
very beginning of our national history is 
being quickened and rejuvenated. 

"Happy are all free peoples, too strong to be 

dispossessed, 
But blessed are those among nations who dare to 
be strong for the rest." 

A. P. A. 
September 6 y 1915, 



WITH THE AMERICAN 

AMBULANCE FIELD SERVICE 

IN FRANCE 

American Ambulance, June 17th. 

I came here — Pont-a-Mousson — last 
night after a seven hours' journey to 
Nancy from Paris. On the way I found 
much to interest me, as (if you will look 
on your map) you will see that the railway 
runs beside the River Marne, then the 
Meuse, and lastly the Moselle. An officer 
pointed out to me all the interesting places 
where the Germans advanced and then re- 
treated in a hurry, — or practically a 
rout, — leaving everything behind even 
to their flags, which I believe are now in 
London. After passing these and nearing 
Nancy I saw what looked like a fleet of 
aeroplanes, and the officer explained to me 



% 



AMERICAN AMBULANCE 



that it was a flying Taube being shot at by 
the French. It looked like this: — 



o 






O o- 



<"> 




I am told that they rarely hit one. 

On arriving at Nancy I was met by Salis- 
bury, our Section leader, and after a very 
good meal in the most beautiful little town 
you could hope to see (and where the Kai- 
ser and ten thousand troops in dress pa- 
rade were waiting on a hill close by to en- 
ter in state last October), we started by 
motor for Pont-a-Mousson. Some fifteen 
kilometres farther on, our lights were put 
out and we then entered the region under 



FIELD SERVICE 3 

shell fire. It was a funny feeling listening 
to my conductor talking about how this 
shell and that shell hit here and there; and 
all along the route we passed torn-up 
trees, houses, and roads. At last we came 
to Pont-a-Mousson, a dear little village 
with about eight thousand inhabitants, 
and felt our way, so to speak, in the dark- 
ness and silence to the barracks which are 
now the Headquarters of the Ambulance. 
I found that there were about twenty cars 
and twenty-two men here, the latter all 
enthusiastic about their work and the help 
the Section were giving the French. The 
day before I arrived a shell hit the house 
next door, and on first sight one would 
think it was the barracks itself which had 
been hit. These huge high-explosive shells 
are sent into the town every two or three 
days, and everywhere one sees masses of 
brick and stone, all that remains of houses 
struck. The Germans have bombarded 
the town over one hundred and ten times. 



4 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

After being introduced to the "boys," I 
went to my room which is some one hun- 
dred and sixty metres up the road — nearer 
the trenches, but safer for all that. Here I 
found I was to share the house with an- 
other man, Schroeder by name, a Hol- 
lander and a very nice fellow, who has 
already lost one brother and has had an- 
other wounded in the French army. My 
bedroom is a quite typical French peasant 
room, very comfortable, and I felt grate- 
ful to know that I was to have a bed and 
not straw to sleep on. I went to sleep 
there my first night in comparative quiet- 
ness, only hearing now and then a crack of 
a musket which in peace time one would 
think was merely a back-fire of some 
motor. In the morning I woke at six and 
went to breakfast in our barracks, which 
is always served at seven o'clock. Walk- 
ing out of my front door I came into the 
main street. To the left is the way to 
the town and the barracks — to the right 



FIELD SERVICE 5 

the road goes straight on, an avenue of 
trees. My friend or housemate pointed 
out, about five hundred metres away, what 
looked like a fallen tree across the road. 
Imagine my feelings when he told me that 
they were the French trenches. To the 
right and left of this avenue are hills and 
on the left runs the River Moselle. On the 
ridge of hills on the right, one sees a brown 
line — these are the German trenches, 
and walking down the road to breakfast, 
one gets the knowledge that a first-class 
rifle shot could pick one off. After break- 
fast I was asked by one of the men, Roe- 
der, if I would like to look about the place, 
and I jumped at the invitation. We got 
into a Ford Ambulance (no one can real- 
ize the excellence of the Ford for this 
purpose until he has seen what they can 
do), and we started on a tour, or "petit 
promenade," as an officer told us we were 
doing. 

Pont-a-Mousson was in the hands of 



6 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

the Germans for five days and our Head- 
quarters were the German Officers' Head- 
quarters. The French partially blew up 
the bridge which crosses the Moselle at 
this most picturesque point, and for the 
last five days the Germans have been 
bombarding it, attempting in their turn 
to destroy it; many of the houses round it 
seem to have been hit, and the two places 
where shells have taken most effect are on 
the bridge the French have repaired with 
wood. The boys tell me it is a wonderful 
sight to see the water rising like a geyser 
when the shells hit in the river. To show 
how careless the few remaining peasants 
are, directly the Germans have "appar- 
ently " ceased firing, they get into boats to 
pick up the fish killed in hundreds by the 
concussion. We left the river (where we 
could be clearly seen by the Germans en- 
trenched some thousand metres away), 
and I confess I sighed in relief — for it is 
difficult to accustom one's self immedi- 




BRIDGE OVER MOSELLE AT PONT-A-MOUSSOX 




TRENCH WORK 



FIELD SERVICE 7 

ately to the possibility of receiving a 
bullet in one's head or a shell in one's 
stomach. We then went through the town, 
everywhere being told stories of how, on 
such and such a day last week, five men 
were killed there and three wounded here, 
etc. All the houses are left open, and one 
can walk into any doorway that looks 
interesting and do a tour of inspection. 
We left Pont-a-Mousson and started up 
the hill to our first " place de secour" — 

X- — you will see it on your map 

some three kilometres from Pont-a-Mous- 
son. Roeder, as we sped on, carefully 
explained that I was never to drive along 
this particular road, but was to take a 
back way, as the Commandant had for- 
bidden any one to use this route which 
was in full view of the German artillery 
and trenches. If he could have realized 
how I felt, he would have taken me by the 
back way that time too. 



8 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

On the other side of the hill on our right 
extended the famous Bois-le-Pretre; but 
it is no longer a wood — it is just a wilder- 
ness with a few brown stumps sticking up. 
"Would you like to go into the Bois?" I 
was asked. I felt I had been in as much 
danger as I was likely to get into, so I 
said yes, and we turned to the left and 
mounted a steep hill and entered it. Here 
the birds were singing and all was green 
and beautiful (it was a part where the ar- 
tillery had not been) but one could see 
trench after trench deserted. Here was an 
officers' cemetery, a terribly sad sight, six 
hundred officers' graves. Close by were 
also the graves of eighteen hundred sol- 
diers. The little cemetery was quite im- 
pressive on the side of this lovely green 
hill with the great trees all around and the 
little plain wood crosses at each grave. As 
we waited a broken-down horse appeared 
with a cart-load of what looked like old 
clothes — "Les Morts." I had never seen 







o 
« 

H 
<! 

CO 
< 

So 

P3 

o 



FIELD SERVICE 9 

a dead body until that moment. It was a 
horrible awakening — eight stiff, semi- 
detached, armless, trunkless, headless 
bodies, — all men like ourselves with peo- 
ple loving them, — somewhere, — all gone 
this way, — because of — what? I don't 
know, do you? A grave had been dug two 
metres deep, large enough to hold sixteen, 
and then we were asked to group ourselves 
around the car to be taken "pour sou- 
venir." I managed to do it. I stood there 
by those dead men and tried to look as if it 
were a natural thing to do. I felt like be- 
ing sick. Then one by one they were low- 
ered into the grave, and when they were 
all laid out the identification started to 
take place — the good boots were taken 
off — and if a coat was not too bloody or 
torn it was kept — "Surely we must be 
going," I said. "No, no! not before we 
have shown you the dead in the mine- 
holes." "Good God," I cried, "I can't do 
that now"; and I didn't. We returned 



10 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

to Pont-a-Mousson for lunch at twelve 
o'clock and I felt a very different person 

— and wondered how I could have felt 
faint the week before on merely seeing the 
photographs of wounded in our Neuilly 
Hospital; — one becomes "habitue," they 
tell me. I was then officially handed over 
the car I am to drive, and I began looking 
over all the parts, as we have to do every- 
thing for ourselves here. 

Saturday. 

It hardly seems possible that we are so 
close to the German trenches — fair food 

— even hot water — wonderful moon- 
light nights, and a comfortable bed. 
Every other night we have to sleep in 
barracks to be on duty any moment, and 
so we sleep on straw and don't undress. 
Every fourth night we are on duty 

all night and go to X and stay 

there in the car taking wounded to the 
first, second, and third base hospitals. 



FIELD SERVICE 11 

Thursday was my baptism of fire, for we 
had a great artillery duel, and it was very 
interesting, though not at all quieting to 
hear the big guns fired and shells exploded 
over our heads. About six o'clock it 
stopped and we went in to dinner. After- 
ward another boy — Barclay — went for 
a walk with me, and we stopped to talk 
to two peasant girls who still remained in 
the town. "Come in and have some 
strawberries," they invited. And the 
way these girls offered us all the little 
luxuries their house could afford showed 
us how respected the American Am- 
bulance is by the peasants as well as the 
officers. "Do you fence?" one of them 
asked. 'Yes, a little," I answered, and 
foils were brought out and we started in. 
The girl fenced well, but I managed to 
remember a little of what I once knew, 
when suddenly I heard a man's voice say 
in French, "Well done, well done — give 
me the foils, my daughter, quick"; and I 



12 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

was introduced to a fine old soldier who 
had fought in the campaign of 1870. We 
saluted and started again, but here I soon 
realized the touch of a master, and al- 
though I got in a few hits I was easily 
beaten and felt a little downcast. "But 
my husband is a professor of fencing for 
forty years," observed Madame. I re- 
tired to bed, feeling that though beaten I 
might have many happy games in the 
evening at fencing with the "vieux maf- 
tre." Yesterday I took out my ambu- 
lance alone and carried eight wounded for 
the first time. I am now gradually slip- 
ping into my place and the sense of 
strangeness is passing off. 

June 19th. 

To continue from where I left off — I 
am now on duty at the Bureau — our 
Headquarters here. Last night as I was 
finishing my dinner I was tojd to go to 

F to fetch a contagious case and 

take it to the train. 



FIELD SERVICE 13 

Sunday. 

I was suddenly interrupted by being 

called to fetch the wounded from X 

and I am just back. 

My roommate offered to come with me 
to get the contagious case (which proved 
fortunately to be only measles), and we 
started off on what I thought then one of 
the most amazing trips of my life. Turn- 
ing suddenly to the left from the main 
road, I drove our little Ford three kilo- 
metres along the road, which was in full 
view of the Germans and which had been 
the death place of many passers-by, then 
turning left again we drove slowly to a 
village so full of soldiers that it seemed 
impossible so many could even find shel- 
ter — a quick turn to the right — up — 
up — up — first speed — along a very 
narrow road with just room for the car. 
On both sides were stuck up cut tree 
branches to make the Germans think 



14 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

there was no road. Up we went through 
another tiny hill village full of artillery, 
and on every side, underground dugouts 
where they all live — trees blown down — 
branches stuck here and there to look like 
trees, and at last we reached the top. The 
water in the radiator was boiling, so we 
stopped, walked a bit in the most beauti- 
ful woods, and picked flowers and wild 
strawberries to the tune of birds and dis- 
tant cannon. In this wood are heavy naval 
guns, but from where and how they were 
ever taken there is a puzzle. On we went 
through more woods until we were stopped 
by a sentry, who directed us still further, 
and then I saw what was the most dream- 
like spectacle I ever beheld. 

The thick woods teemed with soldiers, 
and dotted through the forests were little 
huts, very low, where they live — thou- 
sands of them — pathways starting every 
twenty yards to some new wood village. 
We heard music, and on reaching our des- 



FIELD SERVICE 15 

tination were invited to inspect these 
quaint habitations. We walked down a 
path past hut after hut, and then sud- 
denly the wood opened out and we came 
to a kind of amphitheatre, and my friend 
and I were conducted to "fauteuils," so to 
speak, and we listened (after much hand- 
shaking and "vive l'Amerique," "vive 
l'Angleterre," and "camarades," etc.) to 
a band of three, banjo, violin, and dul- 
cimer (as I write a shell has just exploded 
near by. I jumped to see where — about 
two hundred yards away and the smoke is 
slowly clearing). 

We soon left our friends and took our 
contagious case to the station. After 
passing through wonderful valleys, hills, 
woods, and plains we returned home 
pretty tired — wondering how such atro- 
cities could be taking place in such a 
perfect country. We go regularly to 

X to get our "blesses," and for two 

out of the six kilometres we are exposed 



16 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

to German view and the whole of the way, 
of course, to shell fire. On my first arrival 
at this little mountain village I was horri- 
fied to see two people lying dead in the 
road in huge pools of blood. Six German 
"240's" had been suddenly launched into 
the village which is full of soldiers, and 
killed six soldiers and wounded some thirty. 
Three of the six shots had landed actually 
in the road itself. Two of our ambulances 
were in the street at the time and only 
chance spared them. I asked where the 
shells had struck, and my stretcher-bearer 
looked around for a moment and then 
pointed under my own car, and there 
was a hole some nine inches deep and 
two feet wide. It made me feel rather 
rotten, I must say. Only five minutes 
before and it might happen again at any 
moment. I took down three "couches," as 
the lying-down ones are called, and had 
to pass in front of a battery of "75 V 
which fired as I passed and gave me a 




PUTTING IN UPPER STRETCHER 




LOADING AN AMBULANCE 



FIELD SERVICE 17 

shaky knee feeling, I can tell you. Then 
backward and forward for two hours 
carrying more wounded, and to add to the 
excitement it rained so hard that I was 
thankful I had bought myself two uni- 
forms and could change. To-day is Sun- 
day, and after a rather uncomfortable 
night in my clothes and a snatchy sleep, I 
have a day off. 

Salisbury, our Section leader, asked me 
to go with him to Toul, and I went for 
what proved to be a wonderful drive 
through sleeping villages and semi-tilled 
land and woods and valleys. Toul is one 
of the most fortified towns in France, and 
as we approached we saw trench after 
trench and wire entanglements, etc. The 
Germans, however, will never advance so 
far, I think. We stopped at the aeroplane 
sheds where we picked up a Captain 
(Australian) and with him entered Toul, 
a quiet sleeping town with a lovely 
church. Returning we were taken over 



18 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

the sheds and saw a large quantity of bi- 
planes and monoplanes. I am now wait- 
ing to be taken up into the trenches, but 
the bombardment I spoke of earlier has 
continued so heavily that I doubt if we 
shall get up to them after all. The whole 
Section here does real work night and day 
amidst great hardships and no small 
danger, and the French appreciation is 
very apparent. German prisoners say 
that the Germans intend utterly demol- 
ishing Pont-a-Mousson if they have to 
retire any more, but it would take about 
two hundred and fifty thousand shells to 
do it and I doubt if it is worth their while. 
If any one can imagine the feeling of a 
peaceful man who suddenly hears a gun 
fired and a shell whistling overhead, fol- 
lowed by the explosion, and then vice 
versa by the enemy, he will perhaps sym- 
pathize with the disagreeable sensation I 
experienced when I first heard it happen. 
However, for five days it has gone on 



FIELD SERVICE 19 

constantly and soon I shall become ac- 
customed. 

Monday. 

This very long letter will probably end 
in being so dull that it will not be worth 
reading, but when everything is fresh to 
me it is easy to describe. After three or 
six weeks I shall probably write that I 
have no news, for one day is doubtless a 
repetition of the other, therefore while my 
impressions are new I must scribble them 
down. I did not get to the trenches last 
night, as the bombardment became so bad 
it would have been foolish to take so great 
a risk sight-seeing. If we had had to go to 
get wounded, it would have been differ- 
ent. I stood in the road opposite the little 
house I live in and watched the Germans 

bombard X . It was rather like a 

stage scene or a colored picture show. 

X is a little valley town with the 

conventional church steeple about two 



20 



AMERICAN AMBULANCE 



and one half kilometres as the crow flies 
from Pont-a-Mousson. 1 

Shrapnel, curiously enough, is not con- 
sidered very dangerous and the soldiers 




— r^— «3ERMAf1S 



here treat it with contempt. The Ger- 
mans use it to keep people from going on 
to the streets to put out fires which may 
have been started by their "210V or 
"280" high explosives. Late yesterday 
afternoon they set fire to a haystack, and 
the smoke made them think that the vil- 
lage was on fire, so they sent about 160 

1 The rough sketch shows the indirect fire of the 
opposing batteries. Every means to observe the effect 
of the batteries is used, such as aeroplane spotters, etc., 
and these observers communicate by electrical or visual 
signaling systems to correct the fire of the battery. 



FIELD SERVICE 21 

shrapnel one after the other over it, and it 
was most interesting to see the flash in the 
sky, then a white cotton-wool effect — 
and finally the sound of explosion. The 

French behind A immediately opened 

fire and the music began. It lasted about 
an hour, but as none of our men were 
wounded we did not have to go up there. 
After dinner three of us went for a little 
walk along the Moselle. One can see 
the Germans about a thousand metres 
away on the hills, and as you walk along 
the banks of the river they can see you 
distinctly, but they don't bother to fire, 
which is kind of them ! We sat down and 
watched two soldiers fishing, and I took 
a photo of them, as I thought it so amus- 
ing for people to fish under the direct and 
easy rifle shot of the Boches. We then 
went and talked to a lot of soldiers about 
to return to the trenches. They are all 
nice to us, and it would make an American 
proud if he could see how the American 



22 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

boys here are respected and loved. One 
officer was very indignant because those 
"dirty Boches" had actually thrown five 
shells into his trench yesterday! As he 
wandered off muttering, "/ will show 
them ! les cochons — les cochons — co- 
chons," rather sleepily, I thought — I 
could n't help remembering the Dormouse 
in "Alice in Wonderland." It appeared 
that at the particular line of trenches 
where he was they had agreed only to fire 
at each other with rifles ! In several places 
here the trenches are only fifteen or twenty 
metres apart and the French and Ger- 
mans are on quite good terms. They ex- 
change tobacco for wine and paper for 
cigarettes and then return and shoot at 
each other quite merrily. About Christ- 
mas or February, I am told, by soldiers 
who were then here, they used to walk 
into each other's trenches and exchange 
stories, etc., but now they have become 
"mechant." 




DIEULOUARD 




FISHING WITHIN RIFLE-RANGE 
OF THE BOCHES 



FIELD SERVICE 23 

I am feeling pretty sick to-day and 
rather dread to-night, as I have all-night 

duty at X . I am not at all well. It 

is the hard food we are having, I sup- 
pose. Anyhow, I find myself nice and 
thin again, so your shocking example of 
gaining weight last spring is now of no 
influence. "Doc" comes to-morrow and 
I will give him this letter to post, as it 
would never get through unless posted in 
Paris. I have just returned from Belle- 
ville where I took three couches and two 
assis. One of the couches was raving and 
he yelled and shrieked the whole seven- 
teen kilometres. It was horrible. When I 
arrived at Belleville, where they are put 
on a train and sent to a Base Hospital, I 
found that in his agony he had torn off his 
clothes and broken the hangers of the 
stretcher, so it was a wonder he did not 
completely fall on the two men below. 
Our cars are packed like this — 



24 



AMERICAN AMBULANCE 



jj nz 



&* 



M 




I do not know what could be worse 
than having a poor peaceful peasant who, 
— forced to fight and after perhaps 
months of agonizing trench life — badly 
wounded, shrieks with pain and misery as 
you try to avoid the many bad bumps in 
the road. 

We expect a big attack to-day and we 
have evacuated all the field hospitals. It 
looks, too, as if they were preparing for 
many wounded. 

Any kind of news will be greatly appre- 
ciated. If you do not hear very regularly 
from me, remember it will be because 
work is too heavy. 



FIELD SERVICE 25 

Thursday. 

"Doc" has not yet arrived (he was ex- 
pected Tuesday), so I am afraid you 
won't have heard from me this week, as he 
will miss the mail. I am sitting at the win- 
dow of my bedroom with the sun stream- 
ing through on the table and can imagine 
myself at "Beauport," or the bungalow — 
but every three or four minutes, boom! 
and then bang ! — boom ! — the Germans 
firing on Montauville and the French re- 
plying. As I sit here I can see the smoke 
rising from the village, and I wonder if 
either of our ambulances which are on 
duty there have been hurt. "Doc" may 
come to-night, and if he does so I shall 

make him come to X to-morrow, 

as it is my day's duty there and he 
will have some excitement. On my right 
I can see, about a thousand metres away, 
the German trenches. It is strange to sit 
at a window anq! be in such a position, and 



26 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

yet be writing a letter as though we were 
all together again in Gloucester. I have 
been very sick, but to-day I am better 
again and am very grateful for my recov- 
ery. Yesterday I discovered that the 
main backspring of my car was broken 
and I had to replace it. Imagine me on my 
back all day, working like a madman to 
get the job done in time for duty last 
night. I managed it all right, however, 
and so feel myself quite a mechanic. My 
old bus has a horrid habit of running for- 
ward when I crank it. I think I have more 
dread of cranking my car than of a German 
" obus." Last night I went into the Square 
to see the civilians leave. There are not a 
great many left, but the women are a nui- 
sance — morally — and so the Governor 
is turning them out as quickly as he can. 
Alas, that they could not have done their 
part better ! It was a sad sight — many, 
many tears — and some hysterics ! The 
Governor, a splendid old Colonel, came up 



FIELD SERVICE 27 

and talked with us (there were four of us), 
and was eager to hear when America was 
to join the Allies. He quite spoils us all, 
and anything we want he sees we have if it 
is possible. Last night it was amusing to 
see his indignation when he learned that 
we were paid, as ordinary "poilus" (a fa- 
miliar term of endearment referring to the 
unshaven men in the trenches), a sou a 
day (we don't draw the pay!). He gal- 
lantly declared that we should all rank as 
sub-lieutenants and should be compen- 
sated as such, for he added, "You brave 
boys do as much as any soldier at the 
front and take as much risk." I like the 
French gallantry and sincerity. One meets 
it everywhere. The officers all salute us 
and the poilus all cheer, smile, and "vive 
rAmerique," etc., and I feel that the work 
of the Section is real. I have rarely met 
a happier lot of fellows and all so good- 
natured and generous. You never hear a 
hard word. All work for the good cause, 



28 



AMERICAN AMBULANCE 



and as efficiency is unity we try to be effi- 
cient. I wish you could see this dear old 
garrison town with its poplars and bridge 
and church and the lazy Moselle slowly 
creeping along to quieter and happier 
places. Here and there are fallen houses — 
and often gaps in the walls — and torn- 
up trees. The house next to us has been 
hit and looks like this — 




with piles of stone and brick all over the 
road. I always try to talk with the sol- 
diers (my French is improving, but still 
rotten) and I find they have become fatal- 
ists. Some of the regiments here have 



FIELD SERVICE 29 

been filled up several times and I hear 
that thirty-five thousand French have 
been killed in the Bois-le-Pretre. Every 
day great shells or hand grenades fall into 
the trenches and many a poor peasant or 
higher caste of Frenchman is called away. 
I took three wounded to the hospital this 

morning from X after they had only 

been in the trenches twenty minutes, 
having come straight from the Home 
Base. They talked so hopelessly about 
their chance of life. 

An old chap asked me yesterday if I 
would like a German rifle. "Well, rather," 
said I. He promised he would bring it 
to me at seven o'clock, unless an "obus" 
hit him. He did not come, poor fellow, 
but perhaps he forgot his promise. I 
hope so. 

Pont-a-Mousson, June 25th. 

You will not have received any mail 
from me this week, and I am very sorry if 



30 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

I have caused you any anxiety. "Doe" 
said he would be here last Tuesday, and 
to our surprise he has not even arrived 
yet. I am a little anxious about him and 
so tried to send him a wire to ask if he is 
well. As yet I have received no answer. 
The three letters I have written could 
never possibly reach you from here, as we 
are only allowed to write little open letters 
or postals, so I shall wait until he comes 
before I send them. The last few days 
have been quiet, but for me full of interest 
and hard work. I am better, but my ill- 
ness of the three days has pulled me down 
a lot and the food is not good enough to 
allow me to pick up strength quickly. 

I have had many long talks with sol- 
diers and they tell me most interesting 
stories. One told me that he got on such 
friendly terms with the Germans in a 
trench ten metres away that he asked 
them all to put their heads above the 
trench so as to take their photos, and I 



FIELD SERVICE 31 

have been promised a copy. Also that 
they promised to tell each other when 
they meant to attack or blow up a trench. 
The mining of the trenches is the most 
horrible method of warfare existing, I 
think. There seems so little chance — in 
fact, none. The worst implement of de- 
struction for the trench-livers is the new 
kind of projectile called a "torpille," a 
sort of torpedo. It is fired from about 
four hundred metres and is noiseless, very 
large and terribly destructive. Nearly all 
of the poor fellows we take to the hospi- 
tal have been "saute" by a mine or hit by 
a torpille. The French have developed a 
projectile of the same sort, and neither side 
has had them more than six weeks. It 
has a kind of tail to its head (see sketch) 
and is shot from a sort of small gun. Of 
course they shoot big shells of say "210" 
or "280" into the trenches, and so mar- 
velous is the accuracy of firing that they 
explode often on the floor of the trench. 



FIELD SERVICE 33 

A shell, however, one can hear coming. 
The whistle is very plain, and you have 
perhaps one second or two to hide. The 
torpille gives no warning, is just as large, 
and, therefore, very deadly. 

Yesterday I visited the trenches. I 
left here at four o'clock in the morning 
and started up the hill through a little 
village, rather like what the French call 
"Booseville," which has been much bom- 
barded, and then climbed up past disused 
trenches until we came to a sentry who 
directed us up to the Company where 
a friend had promised to meet me. At 
last I found him and we started for the 
"premier ligne." I felt a little nervous 
and anxious, as I did not care to get 
killed sight-seeing. My friend pointed 
out some bushes to me, and I had not 
noticed what he said, when on passing 
within a foot of another bush I found 
myself looking into the muzzle of a "75" 
gun. For some distance every inch 



34 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

seemed full of great guns and little guns, 
all so cleverly hidden that it would seem 
impossible to know they were there. At 
last we came to a hill and were told by a 
sentry that we could not pass that way 
(for some reason or other — perhaps the 
position of a battery had just been 
changed), and we had either to go straight 
back or right across a field three hundred 
yards wide in full view of the Germans, 
three hundred and fifty metres away. 
Said my friend, "Oh, I think they are 
eating now; let's risk it. They never fire 
while food is about." So somewhat 
against human nature I assented, and we 
slowly trudged across the open. I con- 
fess I was relieved when we reached the 
shady wood. Still mounting up, we passed 
hundreds and hundreds of blue-coated 
soldiers returning from their night vigil 
in the trenches, and then the noise and 
chatter of men and birds seemed to die 
away and I could hear little else but the 



FIELD SERVICE 35 

crack of some twig one of us walked on, 
or the occasional bang of a rifle. This 
deadly silence — it was really quite awe- 
inspiring — continued as we passed silent 
groups of soldiers sipping coffee, tea, or 
soup. Then we took three or four steps 
down and henceforth walked in trenches, 
— winding, curving, zigzag we went, no 
trench being more than five metres 
straight. 




tsor ways or a«»*.pi*9 trenches 

The soldiers silently smiled, one heard 
whispered "Americains." I saluted an 
officer, who smiled in return and showed 
me his room. Really it was quite comfort- 
able. At last we came to a trench where 
every metre soldiers stood looking and 
waiting. It was the thin blue line that 
guards France's frontier for four hundred 



36 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

kilometres. The Germans are not pressing 
or attacking this particular place at pres- 
ent, and so the whole trench is so wonder- 
fully neat and so clean and so uniform and 
almost comfortable, one began to wonder 
whether it was only a side show in some 
exhibition. We walked very quietly along 
this trench for some two kilometres, and I 
suddenly discovered that in my interest I 
had allowed but forty-five minutes to get 
home if I was to be in time for duty at 
seven, so I made a hasty retreat and ar- 
rived back at barracks just in time. 

Monday, the 28th. 

Yesterday we heard from "Doc," who 
wired to say that he would arrive at ten 
o'clock Sunday night. I have just seen 
him and he looked splendidly. I soon re- 
tired to my room to read the mail which he 

brought: Letters from you and H 

being the only American ones. Last night 
I was on duty all night at X , and 



FIELD SERVICE 37 

it was a great strain riding backward 
and forward in pitch darkness up and 
down the very steep and narrow road. I 
had to go to Auberge St. Pierre at about 
two o'clock this morning. This road is in 
full view of the Germans and much bom- 
barded, and shrapnel burst close by, 
which reminded me that a lovely moon- 
light night with trees and hills and val- 
leys dimly shaping themselves can be 
other than romantic. 

It was a sad trip for me — a boy about 
nineteen had been hit in the chest and 
half his side had gone, — "tres presse" 
they told me, — and as we lifted him into 
the car, by a little brick house which was 
a mass of shell holes, he raised his sad, 
tired eyes to mine and tried a brave smile. 
I went down the hill as carefully as I could 
and very slowly, but when I arrived at 
the hospital I found I had been driving 
a hearse and not an ambulance. It made 
me feel very badly — the memory of that 



38 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

faint smile which was to prove the last 
effort of some dearly loved youth. All the 
poor fellows look at us with the same ex- 
pression of appreciation and thanks; and 
when they are unloaded it is a common 
thing to see a soldier, probably suffering 
the pain of the damned, make an effort 
to take the hand of the American helper. 
I tell you tears are pretty near sometimes. 
I send you some photos taken by a little 
camera I bought, as my large one is too 
big. All my love to you and to those who 
make the memory of America so dear to 
me. 

Pont-a-Mousson, July 2d. 

I have just written you a short letter, 
but as "Doc" was not here to take it and 
mail it from Paris, I could write nothing 
of interest in it, therefore follows this long 
detailed one for him to post for me when 
he comes. Since my last to you he returned 
to Paris after being here two days. He 



FIELD SERVICE 39 

looks very well, indeed, and amuses us by- 
pretending he does not see any excitement 
here. 

As a matter of fact, whenever he comes, 
we do seem to have a lull in the fighting — 
why, I don't know — but one of these 
days he will arrive when something ex- 
citing is going on. Up to the day before 
yesterday, one day seemed very much 
like another — continual explosions of 
shells — "departs et arrives" — collecting 
wounded, etc. ; but last Thursday (" Doc " 
left on Wednesday) we had forty-eight 
hours of truly hard time. I was on day 

service at X a little village, as I 

told you, about one and one half kilos 
away, of one street about two hundred 
metres long and one church. I got up there 
at seven thirty, and, after taking two or 
three trips with wounded to Dieulouard, 
was returning to lunch at eleven o'clock, 
when an urgent call took me to Auberge 
St. Pierre — a little poste de secour on the 



40 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

top of the hill past Montauville. I also 
wrote you about Auberge St. Pierre in my 
last letter — to get there you have to go 
on an uphill road within uncomfortable 
range of both German and French fire. 

On this trip, as my little car climbed 
along up the hill, I saw shells bursting on 
both sides of the road, and I do not hesi- 
tate to say that my feelings were strained 
as I entered the wood. When I arrived at 
my destination I felt a bit shaken, but the 
sight of some eight wounded made me real- 
ize that the sooner I got them down to 
safety the better for us all. So back I 
went down the little winding road to the 
sound of shells exploding uncomfortably 
near — that was the day's start. Later the 
Germans fired fifteen thousand shells into 
the Bois-le-Pretre; the noise was terrific 
— almost the whole of our first line of 
trenches was plowed up and our cars had 
to run all night. About six o'clock I went 
back to dinner, but no sooner had I ar- 




M 

g 

I— 

- 

H 
GO 

'J 
- 

- 
- 

3 

S3 

go 
- 

B 

CO 

C 



FIELD SERVICE 41 

rived than a call took three of us back 

to X and I had another trip with 

wounded. I chatted with the "medecin 
chef " — a fine-looking man — and he told 
me he would give me some photos. My car 
was standing outside his little poste de se- 
cour, and he asked me a few questions 
about Fords in general, while the wounded 
were being put into my car. On the way 
down, several shells fell all around the road 
and I was glad to get back to the Bureau. 
Next morning, Friday, we learned at 
breakfast that the Germans had sent over 
a hundred shells into the little village 

of X (one street, only about three 

hundred metres long, remember !) and that 
there was urgent need for our men there. 
I went up on foot with Schroeder in the 
afternoon (I was off duty) and learned 
that my friend the medecin chef had been 
blown to pieces by a shell which landed 
exactly where my car had stood the night 
before. The poor little village looked very 



42 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

sad, for although a hundred " 210's " would 
not utterly destroy a village, one of them 
makes a house look stupid after it has 
been hit. We had been asked to go and 
see the French "155's" firing, and on in- 
quiring whether it would be safe to go — 
a smile and an answer to the effect that 
shells were dropping eight at a time all 
around the battery sent the three of us 
back to Pont-a-Mousson. 

Saturday. 

The bombardment going on now is ter- 
rific — I have been standing about a 
hundred yards from my little house and 
looked across the valley on Montauville 
— Bois-le-Pretre — and watched the shells 
exploding by the dozens. 

Monday, July 5th. 

I was called away suddenly — an emer- 
gency — and this is the first moment I 
have had to myself since. I doubt if I 



FIELD SERVICE 43 

shall ever forget the last thirty-six hours 
— they have been so full of work, appre- 
hension, and horror. 

Tuesday, 5 p.m. 

I must write down the events of the last 
three days, for I suppose they have been 
the most tremendous ones I have experi- 
enced. I tried to write yesterday, but 
only got as far as those three lines, and 
any moment I may be called for "an at- 
tack" which we expect hourly. Let me 
see — I must go back to Sunday — the 
Fourth of July. We had arranged a grand 
fete and the Governor, the Colonel, and 
the Major were our guests with three 
other Captains from various regiments. 
An elaborate meal was prepared and all 
was decorated — a piano, a stage, and 
many flowers, etc. The feast was to start 
at seven o'clock, and nearly every soldier 
in all of the regiments round here knew 
it was the American Fete Day. Suddenly 



44 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

at about two o'clock commenced a tre- 
mendous artillery duel — the whole earth 
seemed to tremble and the noise of rifle 
fire almost drowned the explosions of 
shells — the Germans had attacked ! 

For some days most of the French 
batteries had been leaving here for up 
north where a large army is concentrating, 
and the Germans (who know everything) 
attacked us at the most unfortunate 
moment — and by so doing won back in 
that short attack much of the land they 
had lost since December, the winning of 
which has caused France the loss of over 
forty thousand men ! We all rushed to our 
cars to be ready for the call, and about 
six o'clock every car was ordered to 

X — poor little village already 

badly enough damaged by the bombard- 
ment of a few hours before! We worked 
late and I got to bed at three-thirty, having 
carried some fifty wounded a distance of 
about ten kilometres — ten trips — two 




DECORATIONS FOR "THE 4TH 
AT HEADQUARTERS 



FIELD SERVICE 45 

hundred kilometres! In all we carried 
away over three hundred and fifty crip- 
pled wrecks who three hours before were 
the pride of their nation and families ! 
Monday, of course, was a hard day's 

work, for I was on X service all night 

(i.e., two cars stay always in X all 

night for service). I took four long trips 
in the afternoon and about five o'clock 
managed to get an hour's sleep, and it 

was lucky I did. X was quiet when 

I got up there about seven o'clock, and 
till nine o'clock I chatted to soldiers and 
then turned into the telephone office to 
sleep on my stretcher (fully dressed) until 
I should be called. At one o'clock I woke 
up to the sound of what might have been 
an earthquake — the Germans had at- 
tacked again and were bombarding X . 

We went down into a little "dugout" 
where we stood listening with strained 
faces for thirty -five minutes to the shout- 
ing of soldiers, the cracking of rifles, and 



46 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

the terrific reports of French "departs" 
and German "arrives." Literally the 
whole place trembled, and when a shell, 
probably a "210," arrived in the village 
it always seemed to us, poor rats, that it 
had exploded in the room above us. No 
sooner had the attack stopped than a 
phone message came through, "Can an 
ambulance come immediately to Auberge 
St. Pierre?" — and of course I climbed 
out of the cellar, wound up my car, and 
drove up the hill. The old car (which was 
in the battle of the Marne) seemed to 
know it was on a pretty dangerous trip 
and it went like a bird. Any unpleasant 
shocks of bursting shells, etc., I may have 
received on my way up were quickly 
compensated for by the greeting of the 
Major: — "I wish to thank you and to 
congratulate you on the quickness and 
efficiency with which you and your com- 
rades execute their orders!" I took four 
more trips and at twelve o'clock returned 



FIELD SERVICE 47 

to X and thought I would get a 

little rest. I was just talking with the 
phone operator when we saw a flash — 
and an explosion in the courtyard ! After 
picking ourselves up from the floor where 
we had thrown ourselves, we hastily re- 
turned to the dugout. For three quarters 
of an hour the second attack went on, and 
in this dugout, some three hundred yards 
from the German trenches, the noise was 
terrific, and I wondered whether I was to 
be a corpse, a German prisoner, or still a 
" Conducteur Ambulance Americaine " ! 
When the attack and bombardment 
ceased, work began, and a general call was 
sent to our Bureau, and before long, as I 
descended the hill to Pont-a-Mousson 
with the first carload of mutilated, I 
passed our fellows tooting up the hill full 
speed. We worked until six o'clock carry- 
ing down a hundred and eighty or more 
wounded and then the cars returned to 
headquarters, as I could manage the few 



48 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

remaining blesses. About seven o'clock 

— tired out — I made a last trip to Au- 
berge St. Pierre, and finding no wounded 
there, descended to the next poste de se- 
cour, Clos-Bois, and asked if they had any- 
wounded — "No — none." "But surely 
there was a couche on the stretcher 
there?" "Come and see: — he is, we 
fear, not suitable for your ambulance." I 
went up and lifted the covering from his 
head and all I saw was a headless trunk! 

— "Our dearly loved Lieutenant," said 
one of the soldiers, and his voice was not 
a steady one — nor were my thoughts 
peaceful as I went home to cafe-au-lait 
and some sleep. At four o'clock on Tues- 
day I woke up with orders to evacuate 
the Pont-a-Mousson Hospital (to Belle- 
ville) . I turned in about two o'clock next 
afternoon to sleep again, pretty tired. 

Wednesday came the counter-attack. 
I must now tell you what we have authen- 
tically learned. On Sunday, July 4th, 



FIELD SERVICE 49 

the Germans made such a successful at- 
tack in Quart-en- Reserve and La Croix-des- 
Carmes (positions of the Bois-le-Pretre) 
with petrol and gas, hand grenades, mines, 
torpedoes, "320's," "210 V and "155's," 
"105's," and "77's" that the French 
lost much that they had gained in the 
last six months : that they had been taken 
unawares, and that we must have every- 
thing ready to leave Pont-a-Mousson at 
a moment's notice ! Next came the news 
that Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday 
attacks had been so successful for the 
French that they had regained all they 
had lost on Sunday ! ! 

Wednesday was a very exciting day for 
me, and I had my nearest escape. We 
were evacuating Pont-a-Mousson Hospital 
for Belleville (we had not finished this on 
Tuesday) and I had three couches and 
three assis in my car. A captain was seated 
next to me, wounded in the knee. As I 
neared Dieulouard I heard sounds of shells 



50 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

exploding, and as I reached the outskirts 
of the town I saw a "210" land in the 
railway station some hundred yards to 
the right of the main road. I asked the 
Captain if he thought it better to wait 
till the bombardment was over, and he 
replied, "I must leave this to your judg- 
ment, as we are in your car"; so I de- 
cided that as the shells generally fall at 
regular intervals of three, five, or seven 
minutes (the Germans are so methodical 
that when you know the time they are 
firing you can know to the second when 
the next shell will arrive), I would go on. 
This time, however, more than one bat- 
tery was shelling Dieulouard, and as I was 
passing a house on the road, it was hit by 
a shell. All was black dust and smoke and 
I had perforce to pull up a minute — two 
people in the house were killed, and al- 
though my car was covered with brick- 
dust and debris no one was even bruised ! 
I don't want to come any nearer, however. 



FIELD SERVICE 51 

I carried over forty wounded yesterday a 
distance of a hundred and sixty kilos and 
at nine o'clock turned in to sleep, to be 
waked up at two o'clock to go to Auberge 
St. Pierre. Schroeder and I both went, as 
they had some fourteen wounded and it 
was necessary to have two cars. It was a 
glorious morning, and when I got to the top 
of the hill all was quiet and God's peace 
seemed to be everywhere. The Major was 
there to receive us, and so interested and 
appreciative is he that any one of us would 
do anything for him. Just as I was start- 
ing down with a full load I found I had 
picked up a nail and a puncture was the or- 
der of the day. Two fellows ran forward, 
and explaining that they were chauffeurs 
in peace time, refused to let me work on 
it, and the Major made me sit on a fallen 
tree by the roadside and smoke a cigarette 
and talk to him. We are, of course, mere 
soldiers, but to be treated so kindly and so 
thoughtfully makes us feel that we must 



52 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

go on forever! The Major said, "You 
have no idea what comfort and reassur- 
ance your cars and your work give to 
these French soldiers!" I made one more 
trip to Clos-Bois, where they gave me some 
coffee and I paid my respects to the bodies 
of three officers just killed in the trenches. 
I had a German wounded couche given 
me and I probed out the fact that there 
were some six or eight French waiting 
to be taken. "Oh, but he is seriously 
wounded — * take him first!" When I ar- 
rived at the hospital, I watched the Ger- 
man prepared for operation. He had 
seven bullet wounds in the shoulder, five 
still remaining, three in the leg, and both 
arms broken! I picked up his overcoat, 
and I noticed that the top button was 
pierced by a bullet, so I cut it off and kept 
it as a remembrance — a gruesome one, 
but I shall always remember that in 
France the German went before the less 
wounded Frenchman! 



FIELD SERVICE 53 

Thursday, 4 p. m. 

An attack is now going on and I sup- 
pose about seven o'clock there will be a 
general call to X . 

Sunday. 

My prophecy about an attack was cor- 
rect. Now there is a lull again and I have 
some moments to myself to write about 
the last three days. Ever since Sunday, 
July 4th, there has been an attack and 
counter-attack, and life has been real hell 
for those poor fellows in the first line of 
trenches. Every imaginable kind of in- 
strument of destruction has been hurled 
on them, mines (the narrow part fits into 
the gun which is a sort of mortar — radius 
about four hundred metres), torpedoes 
(radius about four hundred metres) 
"320's," "250's," "220's," down to 
"77's," burning petrol, chlorine 1 — all 

1 The Italians, I believe, fire their mortars by com- 
pressed air shipped in tanks to the trenches. The direct 



54 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

this not in dozens, but in thousands and 
tons. No one can believe what it is like 
there; it is indescribable, and the Ger- 
mans are getting the same thing too. I 




suppose the French have lost over twenty- 
five hundred this week in wounded and 
killed and many prisoners — and this over 
a line of seven kilometres! And the Ger- 
mans? Many more! Day and night our 
Section has gone backward and forward, 

reading on a pressure gauge gives the range the mine 
will be hurled, and the system should be very prac- 
ticable. 



FIELD SERVICE 55 

full of wounded and dying, and we are all 
feeling pretty done up. Yesterday they 
bombarded Pont-a-Mousson and hit a 
church which burnt all day, and killed 
some people — but there are not many 
left here now and hardly any soldiers. 

Last night (as after every attack) we 
eagerly asked how the fight had gone — 
here we had gained a trench — there we 
had gained two trenches — here we had 
not won or lost — but always the same 
remark, "But the dead and wounded!" 
At any rate, the Germans are held and our 
many reinforcements have made the posi- 
tion fairly safe. 

On Friday I again took down a German 
wounded — this time a German of the 
Kaiser's or Crown Prince's Bodyguard 
(the German Crown Prince is against us 
here). He was dying. Picture to your- 
self a fine, truly magnificent man, — 
over six feet four — wonderful strength, 
— with a hole through both lungs. He 



56 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

could not speak, and when I got to the 
hospital, I asked in German if he wanted 
anything. He just looked at me and 
then chokingly murmured, "Catholic." I 
asked a soldier to fetch the priest and 
then two brancardiers (stretcher-bearers) 
and the doctor — the priest and I knelt 
down as he was given extreme unction. 
That is a little picture I shall never forget 

— all race hatred was forgotten. Roman- 
ist and Anglican, we were in that hour 
just all Catholics and a French priest was 
officiating for a dying German — a Boche 

— the race that has made Europe a living 
hell. I came back about seven o'clock at 
night to the hospital with more wounded 
and asked if he still lived. "Yes; would I 
care to see him? " I went in and although 
he breathed his last within an hour after, 
his look showed recognition, and that man 
died, I am sure, with no hatred for France. 

I could tell you a multitude of stories — 
stories so horrible I cannot forget, so pa- 




BURNING CHURCH AT PONT-A-MOUSSON 
STRUCK BY INCENDIARY SHELL 




MONTAUVILLE 



FIELD SERVICE 57 

thetic that tears are not rarely in my eyes. 
On Friday night, I was on Montauville 
duty — and a new regiment arrived — 
"Bon camarade" to me at once — 
"How many wounded?" etc., — they 
asked. I could not tell them that they 
were going to a place where between their 
trench and the German trench were hun- 
dreds of mangled forms, once their fellow- 
citizens, — arms, legs, heads, scattered 
disjointedly everywhere; and where all 
night and all day every fiendish implement 
of murder falls by the hundred — into 
their trenches or on to those ghastly 
forms, — some half rotted, some newly 
dead, some still warm, some semi-alive, 
stranded between foe and friend, — and 
hurls them yards into the air to fall again 
with a splash of dust as a rock falls into a 
lake. All this is not exaggerated. It is the 
hideous truth, which thousands of men 
here have to witness day and night. 
Saturday night they came back, some 



58 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

of those poor fellows I spoke a cheery word 
to on Friday — no arms — no hands — 
no feet — one leg — no face — no eye — 
One glorious fellow I took had his hand 
off, and although it was a long trying 
drive to Dieulouard he never uttered a 
word. I touched his forehead when I ar- 
rived and whispered, "Bon courage, mon 
brave!" He looked at me a moment and 
answered, "Would God he had taken my 
life, my friend." 

To-day, I went to take three wounded 
officers to Toul, some thirty kilometres 
away, and as I waited I went into the hos- 
pital to see if I could do anything for any 
of those butchered by "civilization." I 
saw a friend — the man who had offered 
me a German bayonet. He beckoned me 
with his eyes and then — " Have they for- 
gotten me? I have been here for five hours 
and both my legs are shattered." It was 
true that every bed was full of wounded 
waiting to be dressed, but I went straight 



FIELD SERVICE 59 

up to the medecin chef and told him that 
a friend was over there with both legs 
broken and could he be attended to? "Ah, 
we have been looking after the others 
first, as he must die, but I will do what I 
can." I stood there and watched his two 
legs put into a position that looked hu- 
man, and then I bade adieux to a new- 
found friend. I think I am glad he will 
die. I would prefer to die than to be crip- 
pled for life, and if my turn comes I only 
hope I may not recover to be helpless. 

It is no good trying to make you under- 
stand what horror really is — you must 
see a bit of it as we see it here to be able 
to semi-realize what that place, the Bois- 
le-Pretre, is like. It was known by the 
Germans when held by them as " Hexen- 
kessel " (witches' cauldron) and as " Wit- 
ten walden " (widows' wood). 

I wish you would cut out and keep for 
me anything mentioned in the official re- 
ports about the Bois-le-Pretre, Pont-a- 



60 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

Mousson, Quart-en-Reserve (probably the 
most mutilated, unthinkable place in the 
world), La Croix-des-Carmes, etc. 

Monday. 

I have just received the mail with lots 
of nice letters. It was so jolly hearing 
from you all. I am glad to tell you that 
this Section is to be mentioned by Order 
of the Army, and it will probably receive 
the Croix-de-Guerre, which our Section 
Commander will wear, of course — we 
may all get some sort of medal some time 
as well, perhaps. If my letter seems too 
horrible, just don't send it on to the 
friends who might otherwise care to hear. 
My only object in writing so fully is that 
I do want you all to realize the futility, 
the utter damnable wickedness and butch- 
ery of this war. 

P.S. The Governor of the department 
of Lorraine sent from Nancy the following 
tribute: — 



FIELD SERVICE 61 

"On this day, when you celebrate your 
national independence, at the same hour 
that France in violent combat defends her 
independence against an enemy whose 
madness for domination threatens the 
liberty of all nations, and whose barbar- 
ous methods menace civilization, I ad- 
dress to you the expression of the pro- 
found friendship of the French for your 
great and generous nation, and take this 
occasion to offer new assurance of the in- 
tense gratitude of the population of Lor- 
raine for the admirable devotion of all the 
members of the American Ambulance of 
Pont-a-Mousson." 

Pont-a-Mousson, July 16th. 

It so happened that a wounded officer 
was going to Paris and he posted the let- 
ters of July 2d to you for me, and there- 
fore you got them two weeks earlier. Now 
"Doc" has suddenly returned on his way 
to Pagny and I am writing about the 



m AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

last few days. They have been full of 
misery and yet full of pleasure. The 14th 
of July, the day of the fall of the Bastille, 
was to be a fete day for France as usual, 
but I little thought I should spend such a 
wonderful day myself. Schroeder and I 
were invited to pay a visit to the batteries 
above one of our postes de secour, and 
as we were both off duty, about three 

o'clock we went up to B in one of our 

service cars and thence walked to see our 
friends. If any one doubts what grateful 
friends and how appreciative the soldiers 
are for our little help here, they should 
have seen the welcome we were given. 
We were shown the "soixante quinzes," 
the "220's," the " 155's," and you must 
realize by that how completely we for- 
eigners are trusted; for could the Ger- 
mans but know where these guns are, few 
of our friends would live to see France win 
the war. Next we were shown all over the 
"abris" (little dugouts about ten to four- 



FIELD SERVICE 



63 



teen feet underground and covered with 
three or four layers of good-sized trunks 1 
like this). These they retire to when the 




Boches bombard the wood. All along the 
paths leading from one big gun to an- 
other were shells, two or three hundred 
great things about three feet, eight inches 
high. We then went and had some beer 
with our friends, all non-commissioned 
officers, and about four o'clock a corporal 
came to say that the "155V were going 

1 These temporary defenses have stood out against 
shells for weeks, while permanent works were leveled 
in a few days at Liege, Maubeuge, and Antwerp. High- 
explosive shells by the thousands are the only answer 
to field works. 



64 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

to fire four rounds and would we care to 
go and watch, as the officer invited us? 
Of course we followed our guide to the 
gun and they all posed while I took a 
photo! Then the officer asked me if I 
would care to photo the gun being fired 
and I said yes. I stood some ten metres 
away, and had just pressed the button of 
the camera when I jumped half out of my 
skin at the noise of the explosion. I shall 
anxiously look for the negatives and I 
hope they w T ill be good. It was now five 
o'clock and we had to return to Pont-a- 
Mousson. Would we stay to dinner — 
the 14th July? — What! Spend France's 
fete day with France's artillery in a wood 
some two kilos from the Germans — sur- 
rounded by the guns that were fighting 
for her liberty? It sounded too good! Of 
course we accepted; so five of us, three 
French artillerymen and Schroeder and 

I, walked down to get to B on the 

road our ambulances travel all day long. 



FIELD SERVICE 65 

We were all in one line across the road 
when without warning — bang! — thirty 
metres away earth was thrown yards into 
the air. The noise was terrific — and then 
the black dense smoke began almost lazily 
to fade away. We all five stood still — 
semi-crouching, although inwardly know- 
ing that all precautions were then futile, 

— that if we were to be killed by the 
eclats of that explosion we could not es- 
cape: it was too late. After five or ten 
seconds we breathed again, and I looked at 
my companions. Three of them had been 
firing heavy shells for eleven months, but 
their sunburnt faces had assumed the 
most haggard, pale expression I have ever 
seen. I had no looking-glass, but I expect 
if Schroeder writes his experiences to his 
people he will include my face as being 
like the rest. Had we been twenty yards 
farther on — or thirty yards farther back 

— finis ! The eclats of a German shell al- 
ways go like this — 



66 



AMERICAN AMBULANCE 



^ M» 'f i'/ ' / /* "~ 




- (jerman, SliGll - 

but the French like this * — 






/ 




— rr£^^ 



Ml/^ 



//// 



Wf0ffl><. 




1 This effect may be due to the fact that the Ger- 
man shells have percussion fuses whose action is less 



FIELD SERVICE 67 

The strain made me give a little laugh 
which froze pretty quickly on my lips, 
for I was silenced with a look — "At- 
tends! — listen for the next depart" — 
ten anxious ears listened, but it was just a 
chance German shell and no more arrived. 
When we returned to go to dinner about 
an hour and a half later, I asked them to 
help me to find the fuse, and there it was 
still hot. I shall keep it in memory of 
July 14th, 1915. We sat down in that 
little wooden shelter, about sixteen of us, 
and I cannot tell you what a happy party 
we were. Laughter and song feting the 
two honored guests, the "Americains." 
The Captain heard we were dining with 
his non-commissioned officers and sent up 

rapid than that of the French shells. This would allow 
them to penetrate the target or ground before detona- 
tion, and would give them the geyser effect sketched. 
In the French shells, with less delay action in the fuse, 
the explosion would take place more immediately on 
impact, giving a more lateral burst effect. Of course 
the delay in the fuses is easily varied by the gunners. 



68 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

three bottles of white wine to drink the 
health of the Allies. We had brought some 
Moselle as a present to our hosts, and 
when the others were finished our bottles 
were a great surprise. They were quickly 
emptied, a candle was stuck in each and 
we started singing and telling stories. 
Then, as an act of courtesy, I was asked 
to sing our national hymn. I got up (a 
bottle of wine was fetched to fill our 
glasses) and did so as loud and as heartily 
as I knew how. It must have been a 
strange sight for the casually passing 
French soldiers, to see their sixteen com- 
patriots standing silently — listening to a 
man sing a song that they scarcely knew, 
though one which means so much to so 
many thousands of our countrymen. I had 
but finished, when bang! bang! bang! bang! 
— four "75's" fired over our heads — 
going to kill those who should sing another 
national anthem. The "Marseillaise" 
followed and I have never heard it sung 



FIELD SERVICE 69 

in surroundings more fitting or more im- 
pressive. Then an artillery duel started, 
and backward and forward above us went 
and whistled the shells. Five of our 
friends suddenly left us, and in three min- 
utes we heard the big "220" firing its 
death-gift into the German trenches. All 
the time the songs continued, and those 
woods must have echoed and reechoed 
with the strains of the "Marseillaise," 
etc. Schroeder and I, however, began to 
get anxious, for the noise of the artillery 
increased and increased, and we knew 
that in about two hours all the ambu- 
lances would be needed at X , so we 

bade our friends good-bye and arrived 
home to find that only half of our cars 
would be required. We then turned in to 
bed with the conviction that we had really 
experienced the true feeling of France on 
the anniversary of the great step toward 
what she believed would be for the free- 
dom of the people. 



70 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

"Doc" had arrived unexpectedly from 
Paris and your letters were very welcome, 

also one from mother and Mrs. A . 

It was the very night, 14th July, that 
you were giving your lecture. I am sure 
it was a success. 

July 15th. 

"Doc" and I spent the day together. 
It was my duty day in Montauville; and 
although it poured I enjoyed it very much. 
All we did and saw I shall leave to him to 
tell you about, so, good-night. God bless 
you all. 

Pont-a-Mousson, July 2k> 1915. 

When I last wrote you I little thought 
my next letter would follow such a tragedy 
as occurred on Thursday the 2£d. It is 
now two days ago, so in the comparative 
calm of perspective, I must try to tell you 
the whole story from beginning to end. 
Thursday morning, Schroeder and I went 



FIELD SERVICE 71 

to visit the hospital on the other side of 
the Moselle, and there we were received by 
the Sister Superior, who personally showed 
us all over the building. The corridors are 
now used as wards, as every room but one 
in the large old convent has been hit by a 
shell. We got back to lunch about twelve 
o'clock, and Mignot, our indefatigable 
friend in the position of general servant, 
upbraided us for our unpunctuality, etc. 
We had hardly finished lunch when a shell 
burst some twenty metres away and we 
hurriedly took to the cellar, while eleven 
more shells exploded all around our head- 
quarters, or "caserne," as we call it. We 
then went for a round of inspection and 
found that the twelve shells had all fallen 
on our side of the road and were all within 
forty or fifty metres of us. This made us 
feel pretty sure that the shells were meant 
for us or for our motors. Schroeder and I 
discussed the matter, and came to the 
conclusion that we did not like the situa- 



72 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

tion very much, and that if the Germans 
sent perhaps six shells, all at once, we 
should many of us get caught. I was very 
tired, and at about one-thirty went to 
sleep and slept until five-thirty, when I 
went to dinner at the caserne. The even- 
ing meal over, an argument started about 
the merits of a periodical called "Le Mot" 
(do you know it ?) — a kind of futurist 
paper. After a rapid-fire commentary 
from one and then another of us which 
continued until about eight-thirty, Schroe- 
der and I decided to go to our rooms to 
bed. We were walking home when I re- 
minded him that he had been asked to tell 
four of our fellows who slept in a house 
near by to be sure that no light could be 
seen through the shutters; so turning 
back, we rapped on the window and heard 
merry laughter and were greeted with a 
cheery invitation to join the nine who 
had gathered inside. It seems one of 
them, who had been on duty at Montau- 



FIELD SERVICE 78 

ville, had managed to get some fresh bread 
and butter and jam, and they were cele- 
brating the event. We had to decline 
their friendly hospitality, however, as we 
wanted to get some sleep. I had just got 
my boots off when — whish-sh-sh — bang ! 
bang! bang! bang! — four huge shells 
burst a little way down the road toward 
our caserne. Thirty seconds after came 
two more — five minutes later six more — 
and then we heard a screaming woman 
ejaculating hysterically, "C'est les Ameri- 
cains." Schroeder and I looked at each 
other without speaking. We hurriedly 
dressed and started to run to the caserne 
— women and soldiers shouting to us 
to stay where we were; but rushing on 
through the fog, smoke, and dust, we 
reached headquarters. There we found 
the rest of the Section in the cellar, and 
hurriedly going over those present, real- 
ized that two were absent — Mignot, and 
the mechanic of the French officer at- 



74 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

taehed to us. Out we ran, shouting " Mi- 
gnot! Mignot!" From the dust and smoke 
there staggered some one we did not 
know, blood flowing from head, legs, and 
arms — " Au secours ! Au secours ! " — it 
was the mechanic. Leaving him with the 
Section to be dressed, we rushed madly 
through the fog-bound street crying, 
"Mignot! Mignot!" Then suddenly — 
across the road — a shadow — a dark 
spot on the ground — two women quite 
dead, a boy dying, a man badly wounded 
and — farther on — a still, blue form. 
"Quick, old man, listen — his heart!" It 
was he — Mignot — and dead. Our loyal 
and devoted servant who was almost the 
living incarnation of Kipling's Gunga Din. 
We rushed back to get stretchers and a 
car. Ogilvie got his car and we got our 
stretchers out to take away the blesses. 
There were a few of us grouped about — 
some seven or eight — and a car — with 
the wounded just put on stretchers, when 



FIELD SERVICE 75 

— "Lookout!" Bang! Bang! Bang! — 
three more shells. 

We had already thrown ourselves on the 
ground, and then, finding we were still 
alive, feverishly loaded the car. "Good 
God! I've stalled it," said the driver — 
then the cranking — would it never start 

— try again — thank Heaven, it was off! 
Hardly thirty seconds after, whish-sh — 
bang ! bang ! two more came. We retired 
to a cellar for a few minutes, as the three 
dead could stay there while it was so ter- 
ribly dangerous. At last we emerged and 
were about to lift Mignot's body when 
both arms moved. Was he alive, after 
all? No! it was only the electric wires he 
was lying on that had stimulated his 
muscles. The car turned the corner with 
the three dead and we ran back to the ca- 
serne. There we found the rest of our 
Section very shaken, indeed. A shell had 
burst just outside of the house where 
the nine were making merry and the vio- 



76 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

lence of the impact had hurled all of 
them to the ground. Two feet nearer 
and the whole lot would have been killed. 
Schroeder and I decided we had better go 
back to bed, and we insisted that Ogilvie 
(who lived in the house so nearly de- 
stroyed) should come with us. We made 
him a sort of a bed on the floor and turned 
in. As the light went out, a strange silence 
crept over us three, and I am sure that I 
was not the only one who was offering a 
silent prayer — for the wife and children 
of our devoted friend Mignot, and of grat- 
itude for our miraculous escape from 
death. 

I must have dozed off when I was awak- 
ened by the whole house shaking and six 
more terrific explosions followed — and 
then still six more! Should we go out 
again? No; all the rest were certainly in 
cellars and out of danger. 

About two o'clock a tremendous at- 
tack woke us up, and for an hour the 




r 


J_* 


H 


V 






k r 


0) 




-~ 


,ti 


- 






z 


z 






S 


-d 


<\i 


fl 




ei 










<v 


1 








C 


>, 


S 


~ 


u 








00 






z 


ffl 



be 



in 


+a 


- 






be 

q 






- 








t 


H 


iJD-d 


£ 


~ 


•f^ 


> 



£ 2 



X 


ri 




a 


r. 


. 






a 


a> 






p 


-. 


r£j 


•~ 


£ 


+J 


" 


— 


1? 






r. 
bl 










d. 


^ 




3 


-M 


I 


C 
X 


U. 


s 




^z 


' rt 


o 


/. 








r 




z 


-! 


;/. 


- 


r 

w 






= 


0/ 

-a 



FIELD SERVICE 77 

whole place shook and reechoed with the 
sound of artillery, hand grenade, and rifle 
fire. We stayed awake, expecting a call, 
but none came till five o'clock, when we 
were told that the "medecin division- 
naire " had ordered us to leave Pont-a- 
Mousson immediately. We dressed and 
packed and got around to the caserne to 
find that nearly every one had already left 
and that all thought Ogil vie dead. "Why?" 
we asked. His house had been completely 
destroyed, — even a "280" shell had burst 
in the cellar itself. Two shells had burst in 
our caserne and all around was wreckage 
and mess. I got some coffee at a little 
cafe, and being on Montauville duty went 
up there, a sad and depressed being. 

That afternoon, about one o'clock, a 
shell burst right in the middle of the 

street at X — killing one soldier 

and badly wounding four more. I was 
not far away. I took them to the hospital 
at Dieulouard, where I found the rest of 



78 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

the Section getting themselves installed 
in their new quarters. 

In the evening we went, at eight 
o'clock, to poor Mignot's funeral. Sad 
and horribly gruesome it was. Imagine a 
little chapel with four coffins in front of 
a small altar — one of them with many- 
flowers, and of oak — Mignot's — the 
other three just pine wood — the ordinary- 
war coffin. The Governor came, and I 
shall not forget the dim scene — the priest 
who intoned the Latin burial service out 
of tune, and the "choir" consisting of one 
man who sang badly and as loud as he 
could, and a congregation of silent mourn- 
ers. Every note, every word, as it re- 
echoed through the chapel, seemed like the 
cry of despair of France — a small but 
pitiful note of the anguish of this country. 
Over at last, the coffins were shuffled out 
of the little chapel, and we were allowed to 
follow them to the bridge to St. Martin, 
where they were buried in a cemetery con- 



FIELD SERVICE 79 

stantly upheaved by German shells. Hor- 
rible ! horrible ! horrible ! — that is all I can 
write. 

There had not yet been time to find 
rooms in Dieulouard, and I was asked if I 
minded sleeping in Pont-a-Mousson. " No, 
not a bit!" So I spent last night there 
alone, and perhaps for the last time — in 
our little room, Schroeder's and mine, of 
which I once sent you a photo. He was at 
X on night duty. 

This morning I am sitting in that room 
at the window writing this — all 's quiet 
— the sky, cloudless and blue — birds 
are singing — the red roses in the garden 
blossom in the sun, and the peace of 
Heaven is really on earth around me. 
Then comes the memory of Thursday 
night; a vision of another world. 

"Doc" will probably arrive here to- 
day, as we had to wire him at once, and so 
you may get this letter next mail. 



80 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

Pont-a-Mousson, July 26, 1915. \ 

Since Friday, things have been topsy- 
turvy. Our Section leader was away "en 
repos" and Glover, who is in charge in 
his absence, naturally feeling responsible 
for the safe-keeping of our many ambu- 
lances in this division of the army, thought 
best to evacuate Pont-a-Mousson. Of 
course the point of virtue in the idea was 
to avoid the possible loss of some of our 
men as well as cars — which would be a 
tragedy for the French wounded. But our 
Section is here to give its best service and 
I can't help feeling that it is better not 
to lower the standard of work and effi- 
ciency by retiring to . Perhaps I have 

rather forcibly expressed this idea, but a 
number of the men here are of the same 
opinion. I sleep at Pont-a-Mousson as 
usual, and of course Schroeder does too, 
and now three others also. I want to 
point out that the moral effect of seeing 



FIELD SERVICE 81. 

us about this place is very great on the 
soldiers encamped here, and if you could 
have heard their condolences and seen 
the look of pleasure on their faces when 
Schroeder and I walked down the street 
last night, you would realize that what 
little extra risk it involves is negligible, 
compared to its beneficial effect. How- 
ever, when Salisbury returns, we may 
have to leave, for good, dear old Pont- 
a-Mousson. I suppose you saw in the 
official French report of the 29th that 
we had been shelled — it meant something 
to you then, I am sure — but you little 
realized that it was our little group of 
ambulances they were hammering at. 

Our whole Section has been cited by 
Order of the Division, and last night the 
official wording, etc., was sent to us. It is 
really a very great compliment and I am 
so pleased — I expect Salisbury will get 
decorated as head of the Section. Here is 
a translation of it: — 



82 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

"American Ambulance Automobile, 
Section A.Y., composed of volunteers, 
friends of our country, has been contin- 
ually conspicuous for the enthusiasm, 
courage, and zeal of all its members, who, 
regardless of danger, have worked without 
rest to save our wounded, whose affection 
and gratitude they have gained." 

Poor Mignot — life at Pont-a-Mousson 
will be very different without him; and 
our mechanic, who was wounded, is, I now 
hear, to have his left arm amputated. 1 
What a real tragedy the 22d was for us! 

The more we think about the evening, 
and as further details come to light, the 
more we marvel that we were not all 
killed. It is strange, too, how those who 
one felt would behave well — did — and 
I am proud of my friends in the Section. 

P.S. We hear that a German captain, a 
prisoner in Paris, said that if any Ameri- 
can ambulance man was captured pris- 

1 He died soon after. 



FIELD SERVICE 83 

oner he would be shot! Nice lot of people! 
are n't they? 

July 29, 1915. 

I had a very interesting day yesterday; 
as you will have seen by official reports, 
the Germans presented us again with 
some twenty to thirty big shells on Mon- 
day night, and although I was at Pont-a- 
Mousson, I was in a good cellar! About 
three people were killed, but one woman 
was wounded, just down the road, and the 
doctor and I had to run out and bring her 
in. We were sufficiently excited not to 
think of more shells, and as she could run 
too — and did so with a vengeance — it 
was not a long "promenade"! 

Yesterday, I went with Schroeder to 
lunch with the battery who had enter- 
tained us at dinner on the 14 th July« 
They had moved their position nearer the 
Germans. I have rarely enjoyed a day 
more — the sun was glorious — the views 



84 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

perfect — and the woods enchanting — 
though shells bursting in the air took the 
place of birds! We had a splendid lunch, 
and afterwards went out and visited the 
numerous guns and trenches. I took 
many wonderful photos (c'est a dire they 
ought to be), I saw about five different- 
sized guns, and then we advanced to the 
trenches. Finally we reached the first line, 
where silence reigned supreme except for 
the occasional bang of a rifle or the inter- 
mittent explosion of shells. We went to 
an advanced post (several metres in front 
of first line), and there carefully looking 
through a hole I saw the German trenches. 
I then expressed a wish to be able to photo 
them, and I was shown a place where I 
could stand up and quickly get a snap- 
shot. I regretted having made the wish, 
but I saw they were looking at me, and I 
did n't intend showing a white liver, so up 
I jumped and took two. The bullets did 
not whistle all around me, as I suppose I 



FIELD SERVICE 85 

ought to write, and although I was suc- 
cessful in taking the picture I do not in- 
tend to try the game again. 

In fact, I have now seen all the trench 
life I want to — and do not mean to visit 
them further. The point is that if I 
should be killed or wounded on a sight- 
seeing expedition it would not be very- 
creditable, and we run quite enough risk 
when on duty. 

Strange to say, I felt far less nervous 
in the first-line trenches than when on 
service at Pont-a-Mousson or Montau- 
ville — in fact I felt quite a sense of se- 
curity in those splendidly built trenches, 
while in a town the shelling is so much 
more dangerous; and when you have to go 
out into it sitting on that little Ford jos- 
tling its way over the bumpy road, the 
sensation is not a very comfortable one. 
However, as I told you before, I am a 
fatalist now — absolutely. 

We made our way slowly home to Pont- 



86 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

a-Mousson and there saw shells bursting 
over a little town in the valley and I got 
a photo of it. I am tired, so good-night. 

July 30th. 

All your letters from July 4th to July 
15th have just arrived, and also a very 
nice one from Marconi. It was a great 
joy to me to know of your success and of 
your glorious effort. Things are gradually 
quieting down here, but we have had a 
dreadful time. However, I am glad the 
work we are doing is so well worth the 
cost. One has little time and less inclina- 
tion, in the presence of such great tragedy, 
to consider the virtue of one's personal 
service, but somehow it is good to remem- 
ber that, although one has done work at 
the front, it was without pay, titles, etc. 
— I acknowledge that I look forward to 
October when I plan to go back for a bit. 
I shall have had four months' service at 
the front, without a rest, and although I 



FIELD SERVICE 87 

can, I hope, keep going another eight or 
ten weeks, I feel that without some res- 
pite the winter would finish me, if the 
Germans omitted to do so. I find myself 
feeling an intense — though futile and 
unphilosophic — resentment at my phys- 
ical condition: the not being able to 
eat enough to keep always at top speed 
— and of course one can never allow 
even a shadow, much less a mention of 
one's own problems to appear. The per- 
sonal equation practically does n't exist 
here. 

August 2d. 

Salisbury, who has returned to us, has 
supported our little group, who objected 
to the evacuation of Pont-a-Mousson. He 
found us a very fine, suitable house (an 
aesthete would go mad in it — German, 
and bad German at that), and we were 
told that no shell had fallen near it for 
nine months, so we entered with confi- 



88 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

dence. The telephone was established, 
and after changing the furniture about, 
altering a few details, and (I confess it) 
bringing in a few flowers from the garden, 
we found ourselves almost magnificently 
installed. 

Yesterday, the 1st of August, the 
French violently bombarded a town 
where a German regiment was en repos, 
and when I arrived at Montauville for day 
duty at seven-thirty yesterday morning, 
I was told that all the towns around here 
were expecting a bombardment in re- 
venge. Needless to say, it was correct. 

About ten o'clock I had a call to go 
to Auberge St. Pierre for two seriously 
wounded, and when I arrived there, the 
medecin chef told me that if I got them to 
the hospital quickly, they would have a 
chance of living. So "No. 10" tooted off 
down the hill — at what the plain warrior 
would term — "a hell of a pace." As I 
entered Montauville I saw no one about, 



FIELD SERVICE 89 

but as I passed a poste de secour, a doctor 
rushed out and told me to take two more 
if I had room. I noticed they filled my 
car with extraordinary speed, and it was 
not necessary to tell me that Montauville 
was being bombarded. My stretchers 
filled, I set off again for my destination 
with the four seriously wounded. I de- 
cided to take a different road, which was 
quicker, though supposed to be more dan- 
gerous, and two big shells fell on the road 
I did not take while I passed. I began to 
think myself lucky. 

As I entered Pont-a-Mousson, I saw no 
one about (a bad sign), and on turning 
to go to Dieulouard where we take the 
wounded I saw a huge shell explode two 
hundred metres down the road I was to 
drive along. Had the ambulance been 
empty, or with only slightly wounded, I 
should have waited, of course, but under 
the circumstances my duty was to go on 
as fast as I could. I noticed ahead of me 



90 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

three large motor-trucks and the thought 
struck me: "What if those are hit and 
contain ammunition." I was ten yards 
away when — bang ! — I was half blown 
out of my seat — a shell had landed on 
the motor-truck. Hardly believing I was 
not hit, I increased my pace and emerged 
from the smoke and blackness, going at a 
good clip, safe and sound, but shaken. I 
deposited my wounded and started to re- 
turn, but was stopped and told that the 
road was not passable as thirty large 
"210's" had fallen on it and trees were 
all over the place. I forgot to mention the 
truly gruesome part of the tale — when 
I arrived at Dieulouard, I noticed that 
everybody was pointing at my car. I sup- 
posed it was because we looked so smoke- 
grimed; but on arrival at the hospital, 
several people ran out to me with curious 
expressions, and I then got down to dis- 
cover what was troubling them. One of 
the poor fellows had thrown himself off 



FIELD SERVICE 91 

the stretcher and all of his bandages had 
slipped and a trail of red was flowing 
from the car and leaving a pool on the 
ground. 

I got back to our Bureau about twelve 
o'clock by a roundabout way, and had 
lunch and went up about twelve-thirty to 
Montauville again. 

While at lunch the shells continued to 
fall at fairly regular intervals on the road. 
Suddenly those nearest the window threw 
themselves on the floor (an action familiar 
to us constantly under shell fire), and be- 
fore you could sneeze, the lot of us did 
likewise, and we heard an eclat fly over the 
house. Laughing, we got up — we were 
about eight hundred metres from where 
the shells were bursting — and I went out 
into the street to see where the eclat had 
fallen. There it was on the road, weighing 
about three and a half pounds — it was 
too hot to touch — three and a half pounds 
thrown eight hundred metres. I have 



92 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

kept it as a paper-weight — as a little 
luncheon incident it is entertaining. 

Nothing of great interest happened dur- 
ing the afternoon, except that I broke my 
foot-brake and to-morrow must put in a 
new one. After dinner, being off duty, I 
went to bed about eight o'clock. Schroe- 
der left yesterday to go and see his brother 
who is wounded — he returns in about a 
week. Meanwhile, I am alone and don't 
like it. At one-thirty o'clock this morning 
I woke up. Something was wrong. Bang I 
Bang I Bang I Bang! Pont-a-Mousson be- 
ing bombarded, and badly — fifteen shells 
falling in three minutes, I counted, and 
the firing continued for an hour and a half 
with intervals. 

I got dressed — prepared to descend 
into the cellar if the shells came too near 
my house, and then about six-fifteen the 
bombardment stopped. I left the house 
to find several fires started around the 
town — they had shelled with incendiary 





HOUSES AT PONT-A-MOUSSON 



FIELD SERVICE 93 

shells as well as high explosives. As I got 
back to our new headquarters, imagine 
my surprise to find a huge shell hole — 
two yards from the house — in the drive 
itself — the house never bombarded for 
nine months. All the fellows, however, 
were safe, and our breakfast was a jocular 
one, for we could not help seeing the funny 
side of it all. 

August 3d. 

Just a few more lines, as one of our Sec- 
tion is returning to America and will take 
these letters over, and you should get 
them about August 18th, with luck. I hope 
the lecture was a financial success besides 
a personal one! If all those people in 
America only knew what this Section and 
our work mean to the soldiers here, money 
would not be long in coming. No one 
can realize what our little group does for 
the mutilated wounded — but if any one 
doubts it, I wish he or she could see the 



94 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

grateful thanks in the eyes of the wounded 
soldier as he is taken from our ambulance 
and put into a fairly comfortable bed, with 
doctors ready to attend him. Let him see 
the poor soldier, hardly able to move, in- 
sist on taking your hand, and let him hear 
that whispered "Merci, mon camarade" 
— let him talk to the soldiers newly re- 
turned from the trenches or just about to 
enter there — let him hear that smiling 
greeting and see those hands waving, 
"Bon jour, camarade" — let him hear 
what the officers say — then, if he has had 
any doubts he could have them no longer. 
I don't claim that I personally am doing 
anything, but I do say that this Section of 
twenty -five men has done more to cement 
the love for America with the troops 
around here than any possible action the 
U.S.A. could take in this war, and I believe 
that the same fact is true of our Service 
in the north and south fronts. Every one 
should realize this, and I hope that any 



FIELD SERVICE 95 

of my friends to whom you read this letter 
will bear our Field Service in mind if they 
hear of any one wishing to be truly philan- 
thropic. The hospital itself cannot go on 
indefinitely supporting us, as they are very 
short of funds, and have a great under- 
taking on hand to feed and keep up the 
Neuilly and Juilly Hospitals — "Doc" 
tells me they must get two million francs 
to keep things going till next spring. Only 
a small portion of that money, of course, 
could come to our Field Service, so your 
effort is for a great purpose. I must tell 
you what happened to the wounded be- 
fore our little cars came here — we carried 
over eighteen hundred last week and more 
than seventy-five hundred during July. 
They were picked up in the trenches 
(Bois-le-Pretre, etc.) when they could be 
got at — sometimes, if lucky, an hour 
after, and sometimes five or six hours — 
or never. The brancardiers (chiefly artists 
before the war !) do this work — a terrible 



96 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

job, and very, very dangerous, as the 
wounded are often between the German 
and French trenches and they have to 
creep out at night and drag them in. Well, 
these wounded are carried on brancards 
(stretchers) down the hill from the 
trenches — probably a journey of some 
thirty minutes to the "refuge des blesses" 
(still in the wood), and there a primitive 
dressing, to stop bleeding, is put on. Then 
they are jostled on — on — on — till they 
arrive at one of the postes de secour, 
where our light little cars can go — these 
are at Auberge St. Pierre, Clos-Bois, and 
Montauville. Here in former days they 
were re-dressed, and if there were room, 
stayed in the little shelter, or if not, they 
had to lie outside till a horse-wagon came 
to fetch them. Sometimes they would 
have to wait many hours before their turn 
came, and even the most urgent cases 
would not get away and arrive at the hos- 
pital for a long time. Hundreds of sol- 



FIELD SERVICE 97 

diers died thus. Now, with our little cars, 
an urgent case is at the hospital ready 
for operation in twenty minutes at the 
most and generally about ten to fifteen 
— no matter what time of the day or 
night. 

That is why these soldiers around here 
are so grateful. I have seen cars go up to 
Auberge St. Pierre to fetch an urgent case 
when the driver knew the road was being 
shelled, and the soldiers who see our cars 
tooting up the hill, wonder — and say, 
"Volontaires?" 

I have got a call and so must stop — 
for before I could get back the friend who 
is to take this letter would doubtless have 
had to leave. 

\}/2 hrs. later. 

I still have a few minutes, so I will con- 
tinue. As you know, I almost never re- 
read what I write, but I have run over 
this letter, and although every word I say 



98 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

is accurate and unexaggerated, I don't 
want you to imagine that the French Red 
Cross is not efficient — but they cannot 
afford cars everywhere with drivers, etc.; 
that is why our Section here is so useful. 
The horror of the whole war is growing on 
me day by day, and sometimes when I 
have got into my bed or am trying to get 
a few hours' sleep on a stretcher (every 
other night I am on duty and so cannot 
undress), the horrors of blood — broken 
arms, mutilated trunks, and ripped-open 
faces, etc. — haunt me, and I feel I can 
hardly go through another day of it. But 
all that is soon forgotten when a call comes, 
and you see those bandaged soldiers wait- 
ing to be taken to a hospital. I almost 
love my old car — it was in the battle of 
the Marne — and I often find myself talk- 
ing to it as I pick my way in pitch darkness 
— past carriage guns or reinforcements. 
If one does not quickly become an expert 
driver, one would have no car to drive, for 



FIELD SERVICE 99 

it is almost impossible to see five yards 
ahead, and it is at night that the roads are 
full of horse-carts and soldiers. 

Pont-a-Mousson, August 15, 1915. 

Yesterday was a red-letter day for me 
— I was made so happy that I feared 
something bad must happen to counteract 
it. The American mail arrived ! — twelve 
letters — from H. S., J. H., C. B., C. S. S., 

S ; E. T., etc. — and my uncle and 

mother. I wonder whether you people out 
there in the sunshine of peace can realize 
what a ray of joy and encouragement the 
letters you are writing to us here bring. 
I got this packet about four o'clock and 

being on X duty took them up there 

to read. I sat in my car with the sun 
streaming down over us in that little vil- 
lage semi-blue with soldiers, and started 
first to contemplate the writing and the 
dates on the envelopes. A battery of 
" 75's" were firing on my left, and we heard 



100 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

the shells whistling overhead and after a 
few seconds the boom of the explosion on 
my right. Even the shells seemed to be sing- 
ing with pleasure and excitement. Then 
I was brought back to actualities by the 
voice of a young French soldier — of about 
twenty -one — who stood beside me: — 
"You just have letters?" 
"Yes — not even opened yet." 
"All those! You are to be married, per- 
haps?" 

"No, my friend." 

"Surely it is your mother, then, who has 
written so often." 

"Only this one is from her," I answered. 
And then a strange silence fell — I did not 
feel like speaking, for glancing up, I real- 
ized that he was still looking at that one let- 
ter in my hand. After a few moments, fum- 
bling in his uniform, he pulled out a packet 
of earth-stained letters. "These were from 
my mother — but I can no longer look for 
them — she died last month." 



FIELD SERVICE 101 

Perhaps it was that little incident that 
made me appreciate so tremendously these 
messages from home, but when I got into 
bed last night and lit a candle by my side 
to re-read them all, — and when my mo- 
ther's turn came, — I found the link with 
that boy and realized how much he has 
lost and how he must treasure and find 
comfort in that little batch of memories 
in his pocket. They too were probably 
full of anxiety for his welfare, full of en- 
couragement and confidence in his doing 
his duty as a true French woman's son. 
And then my imagination wandered to 
another side: — The letters from the 
front — the letters of assurance — of 
counsel not to worry — and next, per- 
haps, the citation — for gallantry — the 
pride and happiness of those at home. — 
Finally that most dreaded letter — or the 
brief announcement in the list of those 
"Mort au Champ d'Honneur." 

Are we really living in the twentieth 



102 'AMERICAN ^AMBULANCE 

century after 1900 years of teaching of 
supposed civilization and Christianity? 

The day before yesterday, after having 
made several trips with wounded, I had 
a pressing call to Auberge St. Pierre. 
There the Germans were bombarding 
as usual, and it was unpleasant. A shell 
had landed near a kitchen, killing several 
and seriously wounding one soldier. He 
had a hole as big as your fist right through 
his back. "There is a chance if you can 
get him to the operating-room quickly," 
I was told — it was eighteen kilometres 
to the best surgeon; so off dear old "No. 
10" and I started on our rush for life. 
Toot ! toot I toot ! — and even the soldiers, 
realizing that I had a man's life in my 
care, made a clear way in the road ahead 
— and through village after village, with- 
out moving the throttle, we sped on and 
on. Bump, bump, bump, — what did it 
matter if I had to shake him about a 
little, — he was unconscious, and every 



FIELD SERVICE 103 

second counted. "I hope I won't have a 
puncture," I found myself muttering from 
time to time. Finally, I turned to the left 
— then another corner, — and blowing 
my horn I drew up at the tent. In a 
second two brancardiers had the car un- 
loaded — the surgeon in white was wash- 
ing his hands — and thirty minutes from 
the time my charge was given into my 
care, he was lying on the operating-table. 
"He may live," said the surgeon. That 
was my reward ! That is why I am happy, 
even here, — only for this reason, — one 
sometimes saves lives and never inten- 
tionally kills. 

The other day went up to the top of 
Mousson — i.e., the hill the other side of 
the bridge. It is under another army di- 
vision, and so we have to get special per- 
mission from the Colonel, but as our 
Section is treated so wonderfully there is 
no difficulty in procuring it. We first 
stopped at the graveyard and tried to find 



104 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

poor Mignot's grave, but in that mess of 
debris, — overturned sepulchres — up- 
heaved tombstones — burst-open coffins 
— sun-bleached bones — and the hun- 
dred new-made graves, — we could not 
find it. We would have continued our 
search, but an officer told us not to stay 
any longer, as we were in easy view of the 
Germans and they might bombard at any 
moment. We started to go to the summit. 
Up the hill we climbed and the little 
mountain-side was all pitted with shell 
holes, — some of them most discomfort- 
ingly new. At last we reached the top and 
began to look about. A few minutes after, 
having asked a soldier some question, we 
found ourselves surrounded, and rather 
roughly asked for our pass. We showed it 
with the Colonel's signature, and then 
followed a hearty laugh — when they had 
to confess they thought our foreign accent 
was Boche ! We asked in what direction 
Metz was, and there just over the hill, to 






DO 
P 

z 



I 

o 

H 
H 

s 



FIELD SERVICE 105 

the right of a little tree we stood facing, it 
lay, and, like some glorious dominating 
giant, stood out the cathedral — built by 
the French for the worship of God and 
teaching of Christianity, and now so kept 
by the Germans ! — the race which has 
set loose the scourge. If I could only be in 
the procession that marches in triumph to 
Metz! 

I must tell you just one more incident. 
The other evening I was walking down 
the street when an excited shout made me 
stop and I saw running toward me an 
old friend — one I knew when I was in 
London — now dressed in the blue of 
France. "What on earth are you doing 
here?" I asked. "Tell me how in the 
name of all that's possible, did you get 
out to the front," he replied, and then we 
set to and talked. He is a French artist 
who lived in London and entered the 
French army, as the English would not 
have him. He, knowing I had not passed 



106 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 1 

the "military medical," could not get 
over the fact that I had arrived here not- 
withstanding. He dragged me to a group 
of his friends and we all had a happy half- 
hour. Then the usual handshake and au 
revoir. As I turned away, he followed 
me: — "I go to Quart-en-Reserve to- 
night for some days — probably I shall not 
return whole. If I am a bit knocked out 
you will know, and if I am killed, my peo- 
ple will know. It would be hard for my 
wife wondering whether I was seriously 
hurt or not — she is about to have a child. 
Supposing I am wounded, will you post 
this letter — it only says that I am getting 
on well — am but slightly wounded and 
that she is not to worry." I add no com- 
ment to the story, but I do wish you could 
realize what trench life means to the in- 
fantry when they know they have to go 
to a hell like the Quart-en-Reserve. I 
know what I feel like when I have to drive 
along a road being bombarded by the Ger- 



FIELD SERVICE 107 

mans — but that is only for five or six 
minutes — but think of five or six days 
with scarcely an hour's rest out of the 
twenty-four. No wonder we have to carry 
madmen to the hospital sometimes. 

August 19th. 

Poor old "No. 10" has been ill, so I 
have had her engine down and cleaned it. 
Now she is running finely. 

There is an American stationed here 
who enlisted in the French army — poor 
boy, he is only twenty. We asked him to 
dinner. 

"Why did you enlist?" 

"Well, I guess I wanted to see some 
action." 

"Are you satisfied?" 

"Satisfied? Well, I came here to see 
life and movement — all I see in my 
ditch are worms, spiders, marmites, and 
torpilles!" 

"So you have changed your mind?" 



108 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

"No — guess my mind is the same as 
when I enlisted — I wanted to see war — 
I still do. I have n't seen war — I have 
seen murder and cultivated, systematic 
butchery." 

There has been a lot of "permission" 
for the soldiers here and they are now re- 
turning after their eight days — the first 
eight days in twelve months, the first time 
they have seen their wives and mothers 
for a year, and in many cases they have 
their first look at their own children born 
in their absence. One soldier I asked 
whether his wife was pleased to see him: 
— "Ah," he said, "you should have seen 
her cry when I left." "But when you ar- 
rived?" I asked. "She was pleased! Ah, 
mon Dieu, you should have seen her cry 
when I arrived." 

August 20th. 

To-day has been a villainous one. The 
French bombarded the German stores, and 



FIELD SERVICE 109 

set fire to some large storage-place — we 
think petrol and stores (perhaps the petrol 
they spray lighted into our trenches), and 
from twelve o'clock till now the whole sky 
has been black with smoke. Of course the 
Germans made "reprisals " and every little 
town around was bombarded. One shell 
which burst where nine persons were sit- 
ting dining killed them all. 

The telephone bell rings — two cars 
wanted at once for L . 

August 23d. 

About 10.45 this morning a German 
aeroplane came over the town — not two 
hundred and fifty metres high. We could 
see the pilot and observer and the four 
Maltese crosses on the planes. It was one 
of the bravest acts I have seen. She was 
too low for the artillery to open up fire, 
so the soldiers fired at her with their 
rifles, and although it seemed as if she 
must have been hit, the pilot turned 



110 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

around and flew safely back to the Ger- 
man lines. This little incident leaves us 
with a very uneasy feeling, as we think no 
German would have taken such risk un- 
less the mission had been very important. 




INCENDIARY BOMB DROPPED BY GERMAN AVIATOR AT 
PONT-A-MOUSSON 

He must have seen everything he wanted 
to — our cars are fairly conspicuous with 
their crosses on the top of the canvas. He 
dropped signals as he flew over our house 
— and we are wondering just what is to 
follow — and when ! 



FIELD SERVICE 111 

August 30th. 

The Germans, not satisfied with the 
reprisals they took on the 22d for the 
burning by the French of store and fac- 
tory at Pagny, again opened up on certain 
buildings of a neighboring town on August 
22. They sent over 150 shells between 
two o'clock and seven. All large mar- 
mites — 210's, 280's, and I believe some 
mines. The damage done is considerable, 
but after such a bombardment it was 
marvelous that anything remained. Over 
thirty-three shells fell in the road ! 

It happened to be my day of repos and 
I was asked if I would care to go to 
Nancy for the day, so at seven o'clock in 
the morning I appeared in full parade 
uniform, so to speak; and except that I 
had n't the heart to shave off my tempo- 
rary mustache, I am sure I must have cut 
quite a figure ! 

Off we went to Nancy and spent an 
interesting day looking all over that won- 



112 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

derful town. Salisbury as you know has 
got the croix-de-guerre, and we all felt 
very proud parading the street with him, 
and his significant ribbon. While the two 
men with me went to have a hair-cut, 
which I happened to feel no impulse to 
do, I stayed outside in the car. 

I noticed four Moroccans walking down 
the street, and casually thought how pic- 
turesque their red fezes looked against 
their blue uniform, when to my horror 
they stopped by my car and started salut- 
ing and bowing and talking so ostenta- 
tiously that it took exactly thirty seconds 
for a large crowd of Nancy inhabitants 
to collect. The mere fact of being in 
town for the first time in twelve weeks 
was quite strange, but to find myself 
surrounded by a quantity of civilians and 
the center of attraction was, to say the 
least, most embarrassing. It was a hot 
day, and I felt the perspiration pouring 
down my back, as I looked to right and 



FIELD SERVICE 113 

left for a way of escape. But my trial was 
not over. Horrors! My hand was taken 
and all four soldiers solemnly bowed over 
it and kissed it. I did not know what to 
do — being anxious not to offend them, 
nor to add to the amusement of the on- 
looking civilians. I thanked them in the 
name of America, for the honor they were 
paying her! and brought down on my 
unsuspecting hand a renewal of the em- 
brace* Suddenly — joy! what was that? 
An Irish voice ! " Sure, young man, it 's an 
uncomfortable soul ye are this minute." 
And an old fellow emerged from the mul- 
titude bristling with the hope of a brawl. 
However, he calmly joined forces with 
me — and we presently left the crowd 
with as much dignity as was possible 
under the circumstances. From him I 
heard all about the war, and as much, if 
not more, about Ireland, as we sat in a 
public house across the street. So ended 
an awkward encounter. Well, we left 



114 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

Nancy about five-thirty (I had bought 
cakes and various luxuries for the boys), 

and when we arrived just outside R , 

about six-thirty, we saw to our surprise the 
effects of the bombardment on buildings 
and the road. Uncertain whether to take 
a chance or not, we drove nearer and 
were still hesitating when a shell burst a 
hundred yards down the road, and de- 
cided us ! Not being on duty we had no 
reason to go to Pont-a-Mousson, so turn- 
ing around we went to dinner at Toul. 
After a good meal we started home and 
arriving at my room at eleven-thirty I 
was relieved to hear that no one had been 
injured. Several big eclats, however, had 
fallen in our garden and two of our cars 
had very narrow escapes. 

A strange thing to me was the sense of 
dissatisfaction — of subconscious restless- 
ness — I felt while in Nancy. It was the 
first time for twelve weeks I had been in a 
civilized town, where everything was going 



FIELD SERVICE 115 

on as usual. It all seemed so artificial, 
so futile and aimless. As our car tooted 
home, I turned around and exclaimed : — 
"Oh, Lord! how glad I am to get back 
again to our dear old peaceful bit of coun- 
try!" — rather Irish but quite sincere. 

The other day I had two hours off duty 
and McConnell and I went for a walk 
along the Moselle. We saw several sol- 
diers bathing and decided it would be a 
good idea to do likewise. It was a glori- 
ously hot day, so the fact that we had 
no towels was unimportant. I confess I 
became "anglais" to the extent of insist- 
ing on walking along the bank until we 
got away from every one and could bathe 
alone. At last we found a quiet corner 
and started to undress — but we had been 
noticed! "C'est les Americains" — and 
before we could realize it, six soldiers were 
hurriedly preparing to swim in the Mo- 
selle with us, so our bath became a real 
party of eight. I only tell this incident 



116 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

to show again how ready the soldiers al- 
ways are to join and talk to members of 
our little Section. 

September Iith. 

A sad thing happened the other day to 
a friend of mine, a poilu who has been 
helping me to get specimens of perfect, 
empty German shells (those which have 
"arrived," but not exploded). The fellow 
was an expert at dismounting them, — 
a very dangerous task, — and when he 
had entirely emptied them, used to bring 
them to me. I had many a long talk with 
him, and he got quite fond of American 
tobacco (poilus don't usually care for 
"eenglish" tobacco). He used to like to 
tell me about his girl, and how happy 
they were together before the war — and 
how the day peace was declared, he was 
going to marry her. Lately I had noticed 
he looked depressed, and one day I found 
out the reason. I was in his little cellar 



FIELD SERVICE 117 

sitting on a block of wood, talking of 
America, and he of France, when the 
postman came to the door. He looked at 
my friend — who had become alert — 
and shaking his head, said, "Pas encore" 
— and murmuring "Salut" to me con- 
tinued his walk with his precious "letters 
from home." My friend became very 
white — and presently confessed to me 
that he had had no letters for six weeks. 
Forty-two days — that seems a terribly 
long time out here, you know. A few 
days after, I saw him again and asked if 
he had heard from his girl. He said "no," 
very sullenly, but later, over a glass of 
beer, he mentioned that his father had 
written to say his girl had been misbe- 
having herself. The poor fellow seemed 
stunned with the news. After vainly try- 
ing to cheer him up, I went back to din- 
ner. The next morning I did not see him, 
being on Montauville duty, but the fol- 
lowing morning I was at headquarters 



118 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

when an urgent call came for an ambu- 
lance. My car happened to be just going, 
so I took the trip. "Where was the 
house? " I asked. "Just over there where 
the man is waving." It was the house of 
my friend. Need I end the story? A 
broken man, who had worked valiantly 
for twelve months under hellish condi- 
tions to defend his country — had shot 
himself. We lifted him on to a stretcher 

— then, feeling pretty badly, and with the 
doctor's urgent warning against loss of 
time ringing in my ears, we, "No. 10" and 

I, sped away to B . They took him 

out of my car — read the little pink fiche 
which is attached to every wounded sol- 
dier and rilled in by the doctor, who has 
dressed him in the first "poste de secour " 

— and then exchanged glances. I knew 
those glances not only meant that life was 
nearly extinct, but that it did not much 
matter whether he recovered or not — as 
he would get six years' imprisonment if he 



FIELD SERVICE 119 

got well, for attempted suicide, and that 
sentence, in war-time, means constant first- 
line trench work. I followed him into the 
operating-room, where he opened his eyes, 
and I think he recognized me — his lips 
moved — but I don't know. 

September 8th. 

I hope I have not missed to-day's mail. 
I may have done so, as I hear our letters 
are kept for some time before being for- 
warded. In case I have, it will be Septem- 
ber 27th or so before you get this, and I 
shall perhaps have started home on leave; 
though as the time approaches for me to 
go, I doubt more and more whether I can 
actually break away! The only possibil- 
ity of real contentment now for any one 
who cares for France or England is to stay 
until their just cause is victorious — or 
(as in many a case, alas !) until the call to 
eternal peace. Every soldier is dreading 
the winter here and secretly fosters the 



120 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

almost hopeless wish and belief that there 
will be no winter campaign. However, 
as day passes day, and all preparations for 
one go forward to completion, the French, 
with their wonderful pluck and determin- 
ation, will resign themselves to the inevit- 
able. The other day a poilu who was 
standing as usual with eight or nine others 
around my car at X , suddenly ex- 
pressed this compensating thought : " Well, 
it may be hard for us French this side of 
Europe, but what a time the Boches will 
have in Russia!" — and the idea quite 
cheered up the little party. 

Yesterday I had a sudden call to fetch 
three badly wounded. One of them was in 
great pain from a wound in the back, and 
the slightest jostle or bump I knew would 
cause him great agony. The doctor, point- 
ing to one of the other two, said, "You 
must get him to the operating-room as 
quickly as you can." "But," I answered, 
"I dare not go fast, this poor chap is in 



FIELD SERVICE 121 

such condition." The doctor shrugged 
his shoulders — but the man who was 
suffering had heard — "Go as fast as you 
can, my friend, it won't kill me!" I did 
so — and the bumps were bad. The poor 
fellow could not help uttering cries from 
time to time. Before I arrived at Bell- 
ville, the cries had ceased, as the great 
pain had made him unconscious. The 
badly wounded man was dead. "C'est la 
guerre," said the doctor to whom I told 
the story — and I left him washing his 
hands for the operation. 

The other day I paid a visit to the hos- 
pital at L — — , and found all the wounded 
(only very serious cases stay here) quite 
happy and buoyant, and the men who had 
been evacuated in my car never failed to 
remind me — and thank me. One young 
fellow about my own age had had his left 
leg amputated. I sat by his bed and 
chatted with him, and he told me of his 
wife — a year and a half married — and 



122 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

of his child whom he had not yet seen. 
He was so very eager that somehow the 
pity of it made me turn aside for a sec- 
ond, and look out the window. Quick of 
perception, out went his hand to mine — 
"Oh, she will understand, camarade," he 
said, smiling; "she will love me just the 
same — she is a Frenchwoman." 

How can one help caring for France and 
French people — they have such keen 
appreciation of the value of sympathy and 
gratitude. Here in the midst of torturing 
death, they at least are cheerful, and, 
having put aside the barrier of selfishness 
are wholly simple and direct in their hu- 
man relations. The fact that on every 
side there is daily evidence of this atti- 
tude — in spite of so bitter and costly a 
struggle — is high proof of the fineness of 
their civilization. 

• •»»••• 

So the days pass — Now, with the 
evening, comes, as often, a grateful time 



FIELD SERVICE 123 

of stillness. I like to watch from my win- 
dow the shadows lengthen as the sun 
leaves to them their part. A little later, 
when they have wholly obscured all de- 
tail, man will perhaps furtively begin 
some move to make the night unlovely 

— but for the moment there is rest. 

An owl has just hooted — a musty old 
clock has just struck six — a convoy 
wagon rumbling along the road raises a 
cloud of golden dust — then silence again. 

Lately I have discovered a beautiful 
garden full of fruit and flowers where an 
old man still stays as caretaker. Schroe- 
der and I go there often and eat the fruit 
which is spoiling on the trees. 

Sometimes — when the day's work is 
done — and there is a quiet hour here, it 
is good to think of other gardens far away 
where the salt air comes in from the sea 

— or often the fog, on these still summer 
evenings. I can understand now the lure 
of peace — and so I am doubly grateful 



124 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

that those of you for whom I care most 
have chosen to work — rather than to for- 
get the struggle here. When I come back 
to you some day, we shall feel a greater 
peace and sympathy for knowing that 
with the same eagerness, if in different 
ways, we have tried to serve and to save 
those men whose heroism makes our best 
effort seem a very small thing. 



THE END 



NAMES AND ADDRESSES OF THE MEN 
IN THE FIELD SERVICE OF THE 
AMERICAN AMBULANCE IN AUGUST, 
1915. 

(In a number of instances the foreign or temporary addresses 
are given as they appear in the Paris list from which these 
names are taken.) 

All, Frederick Hunter Allendale, S.C. 

Andrew, A. Piatt Gloucester, Mass. 

Austin, Kenneth LeRoy Lausanne. 

Avard, Percy L New York City. 

Balbiani, Roger M. L Cuba. 

Balsley, H. Clyde San Antonio, Tex. 

Barclay, Leif Norman New York City. 

Bate, Frederick B Chicago, HI. 

Breese, Robert P .New York City. 

Brenner, Michael New York City. * 

Brewer, Leighton New York City. 

Budd, Otto William San Antonio, Tex. 

Burleigh, Robert O Hudson, Mass. 

Buswell, Leslie London. 

Caldwell, Victor B Omaha, Neb. 

Campbell, Joshua G. B New York City. 

Carb, David Boston, Mass. 

Carey, Arthur G Cambridge, Mass. 

Cate, Philip Brookline, Mass. 

Childs, James Rives Lynchburg, Va. 



126 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

Codman, Charles R Boston, Mass. 

Colton, Samuel, Jr Worcester, Mass. 

Cuninghame, Richard John .... Edinburgh. 

Cunningham, John Earl Boston, Mass. 

Curley, Edmund J New York City. 

Davis, Mahlon W Brookline, Mass. 

Davison, Frederick T New York City. 

Dawson, Benjamin F Philadelphia, Pa. 

Delabarre, Laurence H Boston, Mass. 

De Maine, Harry London. 

Diuguid, B. Garnett Lynchburg, Va. 

Doty, Ralph Z New York City. 

Douglass, David B West Newton, Mass. 

Doyle, Luke C Worcester, Mass. 

Du Buchet, Victor- Andre Paris. 

Emerson, William K New York City. 

Ewell, Andrew T.. Cambridge, Md. 

Fay, Samuel P Boston, Mass. 

Fenton, Powell Philadelphia, Pa. 

Ferguson, Danforth B New York City. 

Ferguson, Fearchar Jan New York City. 

Fischoff, Pierre Paris. 

Fleurot, Georges G New York City. 

Francklyn, Giles B Lausanne. 

Freeborn, Georges F San Francisco, Cal. 

Freeborn, Charles J San Francisco, Cal. 

Garver, Milton Stahl New Haven, Conn. 

Gile, Harold H Colorado Springs, Col. 

Girdwood, Kenneth West Orange, N.J. 

Glover, John Halcott London. 

Hale, Herbert D New York City. 

Hall, Melville R Ann Arbor, Mich. 



FIELD SERVICE 127 

Hamilton, Thomas L Nyack, N.Y. 

Haney, Paul S Quakertown, Pa. 

Hansen, Sigurd Paris. 

Hardon, Henry Knox New York City. 

Harle, James W New York City. 

Hayden, Edward E Watertown, Mass. 

Hellier, Walter H Boston, Mass. 

Henderson, Alexander I New York. 

Hill, Dudley L Peekskill, N.Y. 

Hill, Lovering New York City. 

Hobbs, Henry Homer New York City. 

Holt, Carlyle H Hingham, Mass. 

Huffer, John Francis Paris. 

Hulbert, J. Cowan St. Louis, Mo. 

Jennings, Allan R Philadelphia, Pa. 

Johnson, C. Chouteau St. Louis, Mo. 

Kent, Peter L New York City. 

Khigsland, Arthur New York City. 

Kingsland, Harold L New York City. 

Lawrence, Richard Groton, Mass. 

Lockwood, Preston St. Louis, Mo. 

Lovell, Walter Newton ville, Mass. 

Lyman, James Otis Bellport, N.Y. 

Lyon, John New York City. 

Maclay, Robert New York City. 

Martin, William T Burlington, N.J. 

MacGibeny, Donald H Indianapolis. 

McClary, George B Oak Park, 111. 

McConnell, James R Carthage, N.C. 

McFadden, John H., Jr Philadelphia, Pa. 

McGrew, Dallas D. L Boston, Mass. 

McMenemy, Logan Rockford, 111. 



128 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 

Melcher, John New York City. 

Mellen, Joseph M Garden City, N.Y. 

Montgomery, Rodman B New York City. 

Muhr, Allan H Paris. 

Nalle, Albert Bryn Mawr, Pa. 

Nevin, Ogden Riverton, N.J. 

Nightingale, Henry O Detroit, Mich. 

Ogilvie, Francis D St. Andrews Lindfield. 

Osborn, Earl D New York City. 

Peirce, Waldo Bangor, Maine. 

Quinby, Kenneth Pittsburg, Pa. 

Reese, George F Ravenna, O. 

Rice, Durant New York City. 

Riggs, Carroll Washington. 

Robertson, Malcolm Brooklyn, N.Y. 

Rochefort, John E Paris. 

Rockwell, J. George Bradbury, Conn. 

Boeder, George H New Brunswick, N.J. 

Rumsey, Lawrence Buffalo, N.Y. 

Ryan, Dolp F New York City. 

Salisbury, Edward Chicago, 111. 

Sayer, J. Sears R New York City. 

Schroeder, Bernard M. P Paris. 

Sibley, Hiram South Bend, Ind. 

Smith, Thomas J Chicago, 111. 

Smith, Phillip Durant Brooklyn. 

Stebbins, Roland W Williamstown, Mass. 

Steel, George Paris. 

Suckley, Henry M Rhinebeck, N.Y. 

Taylor, John C New York City. 

Taylor, J.B New YorkCity. } 

Tefft, Lionel Victor Peoria, 111. 



FIELD SERVICE 129 

Townsend, Edward D New York. 

Townsend, Herbert P New York. 

Wadsworth, George Buffalo, N.Y. 

Wainwright, Carl Paris. 

Walden, Donald M Brooklyn, N.Y. 

Webster, Herman A Paris. 

White, Victor G New York City. 

Willis, Harold B Boston, Mass. 

Winant, Frederick J New York City. 

Wood worth, Benjamin Germantown, Pa. 



CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
U . S . A 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proc 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: yc 

PreservationTechnologii 

A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVA 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724)779-2111 



